


Don't Look

by whatthedruidscallme



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe-Canon Divergent, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Domestic Fluff, Fugitives from Camelot, M/M, Magic Revealed, Nightmares, Pining, Slow Burn, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2020-05-15 02:05:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthedruidscallme/pseuds/whatthedruidscallme
Summary: It's a day long trek to the nearest village. The vegetable patch is beside the house, the cow and the chickens a short walk through the forest away. Merlin is better with the sheep, Arthur with the chickens, but he'd be better with the sheep too if he had magic.Peals of laughter ring through the cottage in the evenings, fires crackle in the hearth, one hums as he makes soup and the other whistles while washing dishes, and they argue about who has to milk the cow.But nightmares still slink into their thoughts. Faded reminders of an old life make them flinch, and all the while there are swords hidden under the bed and spell books in the floorboards.





	1. Music Without Melody

The house was small but well built, with a slump to one side that made it look as though it was forever frozen in a shrug. Windows stared balefully out from beneath the roof, made white and blind by the curtains drawn over them. The path winding up to the front door was hidden by the close-growing trees that stood stiff and proud in an early autumn, leaves blanketed the ground, and the vegetable patch was cold and empty.

                Inside the house was everything you’d expect to see. A kitchen, a tiny living room, two bedrooms, and at first glance there was nothing that merited commenting on. If you had looked harder perhaps you would have seen an odd glint underneath one of the beds, or a scrap of red cloth with something stitched on the front. One of the floorboards in other bedrooms was warped, and if you pulled it up you would discover a thick book filled with words you couldn’t pronounce and colourful images glistening with something you could feel buzzing in your fingertips.

But for now all that could be seen was the fading of the curtains hanging over the windows, the pockmarked wooden table in the kitchen that wobbled when you leaned on it, and the patched blankets in the living room lying beside a cool grate. The house seemed empty at first, silence lay over it like a curse, but in the kitchen stood a man tracing his finger around the cup in his hand. Bright hair shone in early sunlight. His thoughts strayed to the glint under his bed, the stitching on the scrap of cloth, the heaviness of a crown on his head.

Just outside another young man stood whistling, chivvying an unhappy chicken across the yard. His hair was dark and an easy smile played around his mouth that would have been very hard to see unless you knew him well. The air was quiet, but the sound of his whistling was deadened as soon as it reached the forest as though the trees themselves wanted quiet.

“C’mon, Harriet,” he murmured. Harriet the chicken gave an indignant squawk and fluttered a little further away, bristling. She glared at him with a beady eye, daring him to come closer and he chuckled, too abrupt and too sharp, and stretched his hand out. He muttered something under his breath that the wind whisked away and his eyes melted into a brilliant gold, too vivid to be natural, and a gust of wind blew out of nowhere. Harriet was lifted into the air and launched spectacularly into the man’s waiting arms, much to her own displeasure, and he laughed again.

“Merlin!”

The grin melted off his face. “Damn,” he muttered—Merlin, his name was— and turned around to face the man with bright hair. He was still holding the door open, standing as stiff as any of the trees.

“Quit doing that!” the man barked. “You’ll blow the door off the hinges next.”

“It was either that or let her wander around!” Merlin protested. “And I could fix the hinges if you’d let me.”

The man snorted. ‘I don’t _let_ you do anything, you do it whether I want you to or not—”

“Arthur, it’s miles to the next village over. Who’s around to catch me?”

Arthur sighed. “And I bet that’s exactly what went through your head last time. Wasn’t it?”

Hot tendrils of shock and shame were already beginning to curl their way through Arthur’s stomach by the time Merlin’s face had drained of colour, like he knew it would. His grip on Harriet slackened, she wriggled free and marched triumphantly away. Merlin did nothing to stop her. His gaze was fixed on Arthur, his arms frozen at his sides.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, trying for something that sounded vaguely like an apology, something to patch over what he had just said, but it trailed away to nothing. The light atmosphere had vanished and the wind seemed to have paused, waiting for a response and part of his mind was wondering whether the boy still staring at him had anything to do with it. Arthur swallowed and tried again. “Merlin, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Merlin said. “I’ll just, um...you know. Send the chicken back.”

“Of course,” Arthur said, and he turned back into the house to shut the door. Some inconsequential instinct whispered for him to turn back and he obeyed automatically, unable to overcome a life of military experience that told him to. But all he saw when he looked back was Merlin turning away, a strange set to his shoulders that hadn’t been there before, and it was with a queer pang of pity and grief that Arthur shut the door behind him.

The clink of spoons scraping against wooden bowls and the sound of stew bubbling cheerfully away on the fire were the only things that broke the silence at dinner that night. Merlin refused to meet Arthur’s gaze, choosing to glance at the window or the cat lounging by the fireplace. It seemed effortless for him in a way that wasn’t for Arthur, who, try as he might, couldn’t help but glance back at Merlin every few seconds. Merlin wasn’t humming either, which was a habit Arthur had tried to break him of without success. It had been unreasonably irritating at the beginning but he had stopped telling Merlin to keep his mouth shut months ago, realizing the quiet that filled the space in its place was far less desirable.

“I’m sorry, you know,” Arthur said abruptly, putting down his spoon. His words were loud and clumsy but Merlin still glanced up, surprised. 

“I know. It’s not a big deal.” He managed a small smile, which wouldn’t have been enough for Arthur in other circumstances, but anything that made Merlin lose that haunted look in his eyes was welcome.  

“I didn’t mean to imply...anything,” Arthur forged on, still fumbling for words. He hated that stiff, pained silence whenever one of them was upset, it felt like a piece of music that had lost its melody.

“I know,” Merlin repeated, as though Arthur was a small child that didn’t have the capacity to understand. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Arthur nodded, still feeling wrong-footed, and returned to his soup. It was just as unappetizing as the last time he had looked at it.

“You know, I remember you being able to cook better than this,” Arthur said, scooping it up and letting it slop back into the bowl with distaste. 

Merlin shrugged. “Maybe if you weren’t an ass, you’d get something better to eat.”

“Wha—I just apologized!” Arthur protested, feeling his ears flush red.

“You said you didn’t mean to imply anything. That’s not apologizing,” Merlin said matter-of-factly. “Just means you didn’t mean to say what you did, or that you _did_ mean it and you didn’t want to upset me.”

“Who taught you to cook again?” Arthur inquired, ignoring him. “Right, Gaius. The same man who made potions out of toads intestines and ground up rat tails.”

“As opposed to you, who no one bothered to teach at all.”

“Right, well, fortunately for you I learned how to build a house, otherwise you’d be sitting under a cloth propped up on a couple of sticks and watching your asscheeks freeze off.”

Merlin merely raised his eyebrows. “Think about my ass a lot, do you?”

“It’s right up there with toads intestines and rat tails.”

“How sweet,” Merlin said dryly. “Is that why you came with me? My irresistible ass?”

Arthur choked and pounded himself on the chest, coughing. “Absolutely,” he managed, his eyes streaming. He was opening his mouth to comment on another part of Merlin’s anatomy when he noticed the grin fading from his face, that distant look returning to his eyes, and Arthur paused in the middle of a breath.    

“Do you regret it?” Merlin asked quietly. His spoon was still hovering in midair, a couple inches above the bowl. There was a steady drip onto the table, but Merlin was reading his expression with such concentration that it escaped him.

“Do I regret what?” Arthur said, in a feeble attempt to play for more time.

“You know what,” Merlin said, watching him closely. “You know what I did.”

“Yes,” Arthur said quietly, fixated on the pool of soup gathering on the table. It caught the light in an odd way, rippling a sickly yellow. “I knew.”

 

* * *

 

It was a warm day in Camelot, the sun was strong and a breeze sighed through vivid green leaves. The courtyard was bustling with people who felt in a particularly good mood, whether that was due to the weather most of them were unsure. But this contentedness was shared by the couple lying on a picnic blanket only a few miles outside of the city, surrounded by young trees.  

“Obviously I’d take Merlin with me,” one of them was saying reasonably. “He can do all the hard work.”

“I’m sure he’d love that,” the other one laughed. Her eyes were sparkling; she seemed to radiate a rare happiness.

“I’m not so sure,” Arthur said wryly. “He doesn’t seem to want to do any work even when he is being paid by the crown.”

“That’s not true,” Gwen said, a hint of a reprimand in her voice and laying a hand on Arthur’s arm. “He works hard for you.”

“Not when he’s in the tavern,” Arthur said, lying back on his elbows and blinking up at the sky. “Which he is often, according to Gaius. He’s going to turn into Gwaine if he’s not careful.”

“Merlin in the tavern?” Gwen said incredulously. “He never drinks. A single goblet of wine and he has trouble finding Gaius’s quarters.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Arthur said with vague curiosity, his servant’s drinking habits were the last thing on his mind. “What were we talking about?”

“Mm...I think you were saying something about running away with me, becoming a farmer...living a simple life?” Gwen said, a slow smile unfolding across her face.

“That’s right,” Arthur said, leaning closer. “I was saying that, wasn’t I?”

“You were,” Gwen said, but her eyes flicked up to the sky and she sighed. Her hand slid away from his arm. “We should be heading back to Camelot soon.”

“We can stay a while longer,” Arthur said, and Gwen’s gaze met his again. “Don’t know when we’ll have the chance to do this again.”

“Perhaps when you become a farmer we can be together more often.”

“That’s just a dream,” Arthur said, a hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. The sparkle in Gwen’s eyes began to fade. Arthur was the one breaking his gaze now, glancing up at the sky and the upmost branches of the trees as though it held remnants of a life he would never lead.

“I fear I will never leave Camelot.”

 

* * *

“You’re late!” Merlin called, knocking on Arthur’s door. Arthur groaned and rolled over, his legs tangled in the sheets. His head was buried in his pillow. “Fred will be waiting, you know what she’s like if we don’t show up on time.”

“She’s a cow, Merlin,” Arthur grumbled, his voice muffled through the pillow. “She doesn’t know what time it is.”

“She knows we milk her at the same time every day, and I’m sure the sheep have run out of water by now, and it’s your turn with Fred anyway.”

“Alright!” Arthur rolled out of bed and onto the floor, still grousing under his breath. “I don’t know why we have to milk her so early.”

“Just get out of bed, or I’ll come in and drag you out.”

“Fine! See if you can! I have a lifetime of military experience and you weigh half what I do soaking wet.”

Silence...and footsteps; he was walking away. Arthur stood up and threw on a shirt, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and looking around for his comb.

“Merlin!” he shouted, opening his door. “Merlin, did you take my comb?”

“Of course not!”

“If I find it in your drawer later...” Arthur muttered. He tugged his boots on and met Merlin by the door, whose hair stuck up wildly at the back like it did every day. He grinned at Arthur; early morning air always seemed to breathe more life into him. “Come on, Fred’s waiting.”

It was fresh and cool outside, the light was milky, the sky was pale. Fog slid along the ground and caught in the branches of trees, and it was with a tiny spark of happiness that Arthur heard Merlin begin to hum.

They trudged along the path they had forged in the forest, winding through twists and turns for nearly a half hour before coming upon a pen with a single cow in it, another with a few aimless sheep wandering around in it, and a coop for the chickens that were eyeing both of them as though they looked far better than the feed they were carrying.

“Have fun with Fred,” Merlin said, winking before going off to the sheep pen. “You know how she loves you.”

“Shut up.”

Arthur walked into the Fred’s pen, who eyed him balefully and gave a low _moo_ by way of greeting.

“Hello to you too,” Arthur said. “Ready to give it up?”

 _“Moo_.”

“I know,” Arthur said seriously. “Trust me though, it’s for a good cause. I haven’t had good cheese in weeks.”

_“Mooo.”_

“Alright,” Arthur said, swinging the bucket from his left hand to his right. “Let’s do this.”

Milking Fred was one of the most unpleasant things Arthur had found in this life he had carved out of nothing, but even on these mornings he was struck by the same notion that he had realized the moment he’d walked out of Camelot. Destiny had a hall for him to walk, built with gleaming tiles and even stone, lined with gold and swords wrought out of the best steel. It was beautiful. There was a reverent crown that would be placed on his head, honours that would be bestowed on the hand that wielded his sword, and all of it would be done with an entire kingdom looking on in admiration, and if he worked hard enough for it, love. He would rule, and he would be fair and just and hatred would not blind him like it did his father. He would be a good king.

But for all that, destiny was still just a hallway. There were no doors that led into different rooms or other halls, the road was straight and transparent, no twists he could foresee, no mysterious bend in the road. The invisible manacles Arthur wore could have been studded with diamonds for all he cared. Every peasant in Camelot had something he could not have no matter how long he lived, how brilliant of a king he was, with every breath the people in the lower town drew in, they knew their freedom. They could pack a cart and leave and never look back, and more often than not Arthur would find himself wondering what that would be like, what he would do if his life wasn’t written out before he had time to live it.

From the time when he was a child and governesses chided him for not behaving kingly before he had any notion of what that meant, when guards stood at his doors all hours of the night, Uther’s disapproving eye when he laughed a little too loudly with company, a dreamy future had been hanging over him. It was only later, when Morgana’s snide remarks about behaving like a peasant instead of a prince began to carry sting when he realized his life was not like hers. It was not like the peasant boy who passed him on the street and avoided his gaze, it was not like the nervous curtseys from the daughter of the blacksmith, it was not like anyone’s. His life was not his to lead, and the second that future began to take shape around him that honour and duty had grown within him, but so had the ache in his chest.

And now Arthur looked up at a pale sky on a morning before the sun had risen, milking a cow that didn’t like him and watching his manservant chase around a frantic sheep in another pen, and gold crowns and shining swords had never felt so distant.


	2. Mercy

 

His bedroom was small, smaller than Arthur’s. It was crammed with books and herbs and vials with dully glowing liquids inside, everything Arthur wouldn’t let him keep in the living room for fear of being found out. Right now papers were strewn everywhere, mainly due to the orange cat dozing on the windowsill, and a few sheets were burnt from getting too close to last night’s candle.

The bed was narrow like his bed in Camelot, but the window was bigger and faced the sunrise, something he was grateful for. Sometimes he would wake up still half asleep, and upon seeing trees, sunlight and grass outside instead of a busy city, he would dream about Ealdor just for a few dream-spun moments.

But right now Merlin was not thinking about his books or how low he was on frogswart or even the poison burning a small hole in the floor, he was sleeping. And because he was sleeping, he hadn’t noticed the door opening. Neither did he notice the shadowy figure sliding into the room and shutting the door behind him, casting a glance at Merlin as he did so. In fact it wasn’t until the figure leaned over him and clapped a warm hand across his mouth that Merlin’s eyes snapped open, bolting upright and kicking out at his attacker with a muffled yelp.

“Merlin, quit it, it’s just me,” the figure hissed, and Merlin relaxed, staring up at the man with surprised bemusement. He took his hand off of Merlin’s mouth, irritably watching his expression.

“Arthur?” Merlin whispered, rubbing his mouth and propping himself up on his elbows. “What the hell are you doing?”

Arthur crouched down on his knees beside Merlin’s bed, eyes darting towards the window and back to Merlin, who was following his every movement with a sort of amused bewilderment.

“There’s something out there,” Arthur breathed, and the smile that had been twitching at the corner of Merlin’s lips dropped.

“What...what could possibly be out there,” Merlin said nervously, unsure if he wanted to know. But Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know. But I heard it. It’s moving around out there.”

Merlin’s nervousness vanished and he frowned. “And I’m...supposed to trust this?”

Arthur glared at him. “No, you’re supposed to trust my lifetime of experience hunting, that’s what you’re supposed to trust. Unless you’d like to get up and take a look yourself, maybe I’ll get lucky and someone’ll blast you into dust.”

“Oh, shut up,” Merlin muttered. Arthur rolled his eyes so far he must’ve been able to see the back of his skull and grabbed Merlin, who made an undignified noise as Arthur dragged him to the floor beside him. “Just—stay here. And don’t yell,” Arthur said, preparing to stand up.

“Wait—no, Arthur, don’t,” Merlin said, grabbing at him.  “You don’t have a weapon or anything with you. I’ll do it.”

“You?” Arthur said, barely concealing his skepticism long enough to give Merlin a disapproving glance. “Cause you’re better at this whole thing?”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Merlin snapped, hardly bothering to keep his voice down, and before Arthur could stop him he was getting up and scrambling towards the window.

 _“Merlin!”_ Arthur hissed, stretching out a hand too late, and Merlin ignored him. He stopped just below the window, not daring to look out, his heart was pounding and every nerve in his body felt as though it was crackling with electricity. He could hear Arthur behind him, could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. The same certainty that had rippled through Merlin every time he had taken a life was flooding through him now and he knew without hesitation that the slightest movement of his hand would kill a man, stop his breath and his heart and the blood pumping through his veins all in a moment, and whoever he was, he would never taste life again.

And Merlin didn’t care.

Perhaps it was that realization that made him take a step back, made him inhale just a little too loudly or lose focus for that crucial second, but whatever it was, that certainty had vanished as soon as it had come.

Suddenly Merlin was stumbling back from the window, gripping at the bedpost as though his life depended on it and he felt weak, powerless, helpless, all those things he made everyone believe he was for so long, his mind was careening wildly off track, he couldn’t breathe, he was sure his heart was bruising his ribcage by now, why wasn’t there enough air in the room, why couldn’t he breathe—

And then there was a hand gripping his arm and a frantic voice in his ear, and Merlin was looking up at familiar blue eyes that were wide with terror but it only made him want to get away more, he had to get away but Arthur only gripped him harder and Merlin had had enough, there was a shout, a blast of hot wind and the sound of a window shattering, and the hand on his arm slackened.

 

_Breathe._

In, out.

 In, out.

He could taste something in the air.

_Breathe._

It tasted like something hideously familiar, lurking at the back of his throat and filling his nostrils and making him want to retch. When he opened his eyes, he found that his room was nothing more than a smear of colour. It hurt every time he blinked.

_Breathe._

                By the time his focus had come back, he could feel something hot and wet dribbling down his wrists. He looked down, vaguely wondering what the red marks on his hands were until the gears in his brain slowly started grinding again and something clicked.

 _Blood_ , he thought hazily. That was the metallic tang he could taste. _That’s...blood_.

He turned his head, every joint in his body was aching and his bones felt like melting candle wax. Whatever he had done, it had drained him.  

 _Breathe_.

It took a moment for him to blink the blood out of his eyes long enough to see Arthur, who was slumped against the wall and looked at him in the same dazed way that Merlin felt. He was covered in tiny cuts, drops of blood hit the floor and made tiny ribbons in the cracks between the wood.

“Arthur,” Merlin said with great difficulty, his tongue felt fuzzy and too big for his mouth. “Arthur?” His hand was automatically stretching out, looking to make sure the man blinking at him was real and unhurt.

“Mer...Merlin,” Arthur said gutturally. He licked his lips, leaving a smudge of blood on his mouth. “You—what did you do?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin managed. “I—I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

It didn’t feel real. The cloaks were too red, the screams were too loud, magnifying in his ears. The sunlight was hard, sparkling off of the throne as though underlining the power that lay in that seat. The people around him were just as frozen as he was and watching the scene unfold just like he did, with a terrible sort of stillness.

Uther was still shouting, Merlin noted dully. There wasn’t any reason to. He had won. He always won.

Arthur was being held back by three knights. His attention was focused entirely on Gwen, who’s screams clashed horribly with Uther’s loud condemnation of her. Her face was etched in grief and wild terror as she was dragged back from the throne room, still pleading, her heels scraping against the gleaming floor.

“Mercy...Mercy, please!” her voice was a hoarse shriek and tears stained her cheeks and her hair stuck to her forehead. She spared one dreadful glance for Merlin, who watched her like a statue, and the glance she gave him burned behind his eyelids.

She vanished from sight and the doors were shut with a resounding _boom_ , but Gwen’s pleas for her life still rang through the room, and Arthur fell to his knees as though the closing of those doors had sapped whatever energy was left in him. His face was cast in shadow and Merlin was almost glad, selfishly so; whatever was on Arthur’s face, he didn’t want to see it. Uther was still alight with that feverish, righteous glee that filled him whenever he had extinguished just a little more of his own conscience.

And abruptly that numbness inside Merlin had vanished and he was filled with his own anger. It rose up  like waves, drowning him, he was almost shaking with the gravity of what he felt, and he was focused with such intensity on the king that he wondered how Uther could not feel the hatred emanating from him.

In one blinding flash Merlin saw every one of the lives Uther had taken. He saw a knight in a bloodred cloak shove a blade through a begging man’s chest. The sword had a gold handle that caught the light, glittering in the sunset as the nameless man’s blood soaked the earth. Then he was in the throne room, watching a woman’s neck be jerked back so far that it snapped and she was dead before the knife had time to pierce the delicate skin in her throat. But of course it did anyway, and she slumped back onto the spotless floor with a wide smile gaping open in her neck.  

  He saw eyes glow gold and fade and turn to glass. He saw the grief of parents who found their children’s pale, bloated bodies wash up on the shore days after Uther demanded their deaths, tasted the ashes that floated on the air after the shrieks from the smoking stake had finally stopped, he felt hatred spark in every sorcerer like a flame. It roared up, consuming him for a short, painful moment and he realized that the fire Uther thought he had doused had never died out. It simmered in every sorcerer who had survived the last twenty years, every one who spent their lives hiding who they were for fear of the distant, ruthless king that ruled Camelot, the one they all told terrible stories about. All of it raging inside Merlin, crying for justice, screaming for their lives, for just one small mercy, _please, spare my child, please let me go, please let me die, please, show mercy._

_Mercy._

 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Merlin said quietly. Arthur was sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. Gaius had wanted to come up and examine him under the pretense of looking for evidence of enchantment, but Arthur refused. So that task fell to Merlin, who was now on his knees beside Arthur and tracing his fingers over the bruises that decorated his arms.

“Yes it is,” Arthur said into his hands. “It was my idea to meet outside the city. And when we were caught, it was me who told my father that I loved her.”

“But you do,” Merlin said gently. He had stopped looking for any injuries the guards might have left behind and leaned back on his heels, resisting the urge to pry Arthur’s hands away from his face.

“Yes...and now it’s going to kill her. She’s going to die because I’m too stupid to keep my mouth shut.”

“She’s not going to die,” Merlin said firmly. “We’ll get her out, we’ll—we’ll find something that proves her innocence. Gwen isn’t a sorcerer, so there must be a way to prove it.”

Arthur looked up from his hands, fastening his gaze on Merlin. His face was pale and there were red crescent marks on his face from where his fingers had been digging into his cheeks. “There are guards at my door and before long there will be guards in the square, building the—the stake and making sure I can’t leave my chambers. And you know as well as I do that even should we find proof, my father will execute her anyway. Just to be accused of using magic is a death sentence.”

“If we get her out, none of that will matter.”

“How, Merlin?” Arthur asked, standing up and beginning to pace around the room. He threw up his hands. “How will we get her out? And even if we can, what kind of life will she have? Everything is in Camelot, her entire life is here. She will never be able to return, she will spend her life running from me. I will never see her again, and all of this is if we somehow manage to succeed in some stupid, hopeless plan we haven’t even concocted yet.”

“The last Dragonlord,” Merlin said quietly. Arthur stopped mid-stride and looked at Merlin, who was still sitting on the floor next to Arthur’s bed and staring up at him.

“What about him?”

“Balinor. He left Camelot. Escaped in the middle of the Great Purge. He built a life. He—he had a family.”

“He had no family,” Arthur said dismissively. “He was spending the rest of his days in alone in a cave, scaring off anyone who might speak to him and waiting to die.”

 Merlin inhaled through his teeth. “No he wasn’t.”

“Can you picture that kind of existence for Gwen? Honestly? Because that doesn’t sound like any sort of life to me. My father still got what he wanted. Balinor lived in terror of being found out, and then he died anyway on his way back to Camelot.”

“Saving my life,” Merlin said loudly. “Did that bit just slip your mind? That he died so I could live? That he’s the reason I can mend your stupid shirts and polish your chainmail and muck out your horses?”

“Please, Merlin, he didn’t die for you. It was an accident, and anyway I still don’t see what this has to do with getting Gwen out alive,” Arthur said, beginning to pace again.

“Oh--right,” Merlin said stupidly, a little too late, the hot resentment that had been prickling in his stomach vanished when he remembered that Arthur knew nothing about the true circumstances of Balinor's death. “Right. Er—I don’t know. There must be a way to sneak her out. Maybe you could talk to your father, see if he’ll be lenient.”

Arthur’s laugh sounded more like a man gasping for air. “Lenience? My father? I could beg on my hands and knees for mercy and he would tell me to close my eyes as she burned if it really meant that much to me.”

“Mercy,” Merlin said. The word tasted odd and bitter in his mouth. “No, he will never have mercy.”

 

* * *

 

“...the chicken,” Arthur was saying, and Merlin looked up in distant surprise. “What?”

Arthur sighed and turned around to look at Merlin from their tiny kitchen. He was sitting on the couch, his knees drawn up to his chest and his hands clutching the tea that steamed in the air. Arthur walked over, slowly, carefully, the last thing he wanted to do was scare Merlin. At least that’s what he told himself, there was a microscopic part of him that was worried about what Merlin could do to him. It was days like these that Arthur had trouble coming near him, the brutal reminder of what Merlin could do with a mere flick of his head was more frightening than he wanted to admit.

 “I said you blew half the feathers off of Harriet,” he said, fighting off his instincts and sitting on the couch. “She’s not going to lay for a week now.”

“Oh,” was all Merlin said. Arthur looked at him closely. “Not a big deal. She’ll get over it. But we’ll have to go into town to replace that window.”

“I can’t,” Merlin said abruptly. His eyes were fastened on the fire sparking in the hearth. “We can’t risk that.”

“Yes we can. We’ll be careful, we’ll be in and out, no one will even have a chance to recognize us.”

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, turning to face him on the couch. His hands clutched the cup tighter and dark lines circled his eyes. His gaze was desperate and dull at the same time, as though he wanted to hope and couldn’t find the will anymore. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Merlin swallowed. “It felt like last time. It was...familiar. I didn’t even know it was coming, not like that. But it still happened, I did that.”

“All you did was break a window,” Arthur said, leaning forward and placing a comforting hand on Merlin’s knee, who uttered a mirthless laugh. “And give both of us a dozen cuts each. And almost take Harriet out.”

“But you didn’t. She’s fine, just a little, er—shell-shocked.”

“She could be dead.”

“She’s _not._ ” Arthur pressed a little harder on Merlin’s leg.

“Alright,” Merlin said, trying to placate him before either of them got frustrated. “Alright, fine. Let’s just go to bed okay? I’m tired.”

Arthur’s eyes moved over Merlin’s drawn face, the greyish tinge to his skin, the dark eyes that watched him and the chapped lips he was biting. He nodded, realizing that perhaps for once the young sorcerer sitting in front of him was telling the truth.

Merlin got up still swaying from exhaustion and Arthur gripped his elbow; the steadiness was not unwelcome and he resisted the urge to lean further into him. Arthur’s thumb rubbed unconsciously against his arm and little flicker of warmth ran through Merlin’s blood at the touch. The smallest imaginable smile crossed his lips. 

Later that night, when the sun had failed and the stars were dim in the hours before dawn, a figure crept into Arthur’s room. He shut the door behind him and Arthur stirred, opening his eyes just long enough to see Merlin slide into bed.

“You okay?” Arthur murmured. Merlin drew in a shuddery breath. “Can’t sleep alone tonight.”

“Okay.”

Arthur was slipping back into heavy dreams when he heard Merlin’s voice again, just a few syllables he couldn’t quite catch before he was pulled back into sleep. But Merlin lay awake, blinking in the dark, and the simple word that so many dead lips had cried out for lingered in his dreams, if not in Arthur’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback!! It's awesome to see what people have to say :) let me know what you think of this chapter!


	3. Old Fear

“Hestia...Hestia, come here...come on, just—damn it, Merlin can you come out here?” Arthur called, glaring at the cat from across the yard. Hestia blinked great smoky eyes at him as though challenging him to come closer. Her fur was the colour of embers and when the wind caught her at the right angle, she looked as though she had burst into flame.

“Why?” came Merlin’s distant voice; he must’ve still been at the other side of the house.

“I can’t get Hestia into the house,” Arthur shouted back. “She won’t listen to me.” He could almost see Merlin’s eyes rolling from where he stood, where the forest was beginning to encroach on the clearing again and trees were greedy for sunlight.

The small wooden door opened and Merlin came traipsing out, hitching  a satchel onto his back. “She’s a cat, she weighs ten pounds max,” he informed him, walking towards Hestia. “You pick her up and bring her inside and you’re done.”

“I don’t see why she can’t come with us,” Arthur said, watching apprehensively as the fur rippled along Hestia’s back and her tail grew high and stiff the closer Merlin came. “She might be some company.”

“We have each other,” Merlin said, taking a last step forward and gathering Hestia up in his arms. She relaxed at his touch, curling into his arms and giving Arthur another insolent look as Merlin carried her back into the house. “Or am I not good enough company for you?” 

“And she’ll do better in our wooden house? We’ll come home to find it in ashes.”

“No we won’t,” Merlin said, shutting the door and locking it. “She knows to be careful inside and that she doesn’t have to be out here. Unlike you, who’s under the impression you can wave that _thing_ around and no one’s going to notice.”

Arthur flushed, instantly taking the wrong impression. “I—I don’t—”

“Are you sure we need to bring it?” Merlin asked, clearly not listening to him. He stopped a couple inches in front of Arthur, his brow quizzical and his lips pursed, but his eyes were careful. His skin was still pale and his clothes were hanging off of him more loosely than before; he hadn’t bothered to mend them, and the pack he was carrying seemed to weigh as much as he did.

None of this was anything Arthur had worried about before. Merlin was always okay. And now his eyes constantly picked out problems, whether it was tired eyes or restless hands or unpatched clothing, he had to remind himself this was the decision Merlin had made, that he had wanted this. The hole in his boots and the nightmares had nothing to do with him, and just bringing it up would irritate him.

“Uh—yeah,” Arthur said belatedly, tearing his eyes away from the man in front of him to glance at the innocuous sword hanging by his side. “Not like we can go to a forge and pick one up.”

“We could,” Merlin said. “One that isn’t so recognizable and isn’t tempered with Camelot steel, or has that inscription down the side of it. It’s gilded with gold, we’re practically begging for bandits to come take it off us.”

Arthur drew the sword out of its sheath, staring at it contemplatively. The handle shone like the sun and the blade glittered like it was freshly forged, there was no smudge or nick, no imperfect balance. It was beautiful. His finger glided along the edge of it and the memory struck him square between the eyes; Tom’s kind face, the smile he always had for his daughter, the pride that shone out of every orifice when Gwen came home every night, his rotting corpse lying on a wagon.

Arthur’s finger jerked and there was blood spattering on the blade, it clattered to the ground and he stepped back, cursing. His hand was slit open from the bottom of his index finger to his palm and he shook his hand out, not sure what that would do but unable to stop the impulse. Merlin was already there, catching Arthur’s hand with one of his own. Blood was sliding down his wrist, dripping on Merlin’s shirt. He didn’t seem to care.

“You’re fine,” Merlin said with a thin smile, releasing his hand quickly and stepping back. “Not big, but deep. A bandage in case of infection and you’ll be fine.”

“Sorry,” Arthur mumbled, wiping it on his shirt. He stared down at the sword and was hit with the sudden urge to fling it into the sun. He’d rather some cheap, stolen thing than this graceful weapon lying on the ground, glittering with dust and his own blood, a remnant of a life he no longer wanted.  

Merlin was rummaging in his bag already, pulling out a roll of gauze, that same smile playing around his mouth.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur demanded suddenly, looking for anything to take his mind off what he had just done, the thoughts poisoning his brain. Merlin grabbed his hand and poured water over the cut, his smile growing wider. “Nothing,” he said, finally looking at Arthur. His eyes were sparkling. “The prince of Camelot, famed warrior of the kingdom, and can’t pick up his own sword. It’s poetic.”

“Shut up.”

“Keep _still._ ” Merlin’s fingers moved deftly, wrapping the gauze around his hand and tying it together.

“I didn’t need a bandage,” Arthur said, picking the hated sword back up and sliding it into the sheath with an involuntary shudder. “I’ve gotten worse wounds and done nothing for them.”

“Making me sick with anxiety and forcing Gaius to work through the night because of your dismissal of infection,” Merlin said drily. He began to trudge towards the forest, where a slim path wound its way through the close-growing trees.

“Sick with anxiety, huh?” Arthur said, walking just behind him, until the trees cast dark shadows over both their faces. There was a sigh. “You know what I mean,” Merlin said, and Arthur hid his smile.

The day was unusually short, or maybe it just felt that way with the light drowning in thick greenery. After a half hour Arthur felt like it was getting dark, though they had started just after dawn, and by the time the sun had really began to sink he was unbearably claustrophobic. The trees seemed to leer at him as they passed, whispering things he didn’t want to hear, doubts taking hold like black roots in the back of his head.

The path was so narrow they had to walk single file and to Arthur’s increasing frustration, Merlin seemed fine. He humming tunelessly and when he looked to either side, the trees did not grin and lean over him, instead drawing closer to themselves, away from the path. Trees, cowering at the sound of a servant’s step.

Or perhaps they were bowing.

Arthur’s throat clicked when he swallowed.

“Merlin,” he finally said when he couldn’t stand it anymore. “We’re stopping.”

Merlin turned around, and Arthur thought he could make out mild surprise on his face, but the shadows were now so dark he could hardly make out the path, much less someone else’s expression. “Why?” he asked. He gestured ahead. “We have another hour before the sun is gone.”

“And I can barely see your face as it is,” Arthur shot back; part of him chided the other part for being so distraught. The forest was uncomfortable, it wasn’t Merlin’s fault. But that other part was running the mouth. “We can make camp here for the night and start in daylight, I can hear water.” He couldn’t really, he just wanted an excuse to stop. Consequently, it was an enormous surprise when Merlin went for a short walk through the black branches and came back with full waterskins, tiny rivulets of water running down his face and soaking into his shirt.

“Huh,” Arthur said, taking his back. “Thanks.”

Merlin shrugged and sat down in front of the small pile of wood Arthur had collected. “This is it?” he said, his eyebrow arching. “Couldn’t even light it?”

“You were always better with that,” Arthur muttered, sitting down across from him. “Right,” Merlin said, his voice laced with familiar sarcasm. Arthur laid back on his elbows and was about to make some ridiculous comment about Merlin being meant to be his servant, but he never got around to it.

Merlin stretched a hand out and muttered something Arthur couldn’t make out, but it was still a shock to his system when his eyes caught fire, gold melting in a forge, and the fire flared suddenly and blindingly bright with them. Arthur jerked back, a low hiss in his throat, and if he hadn’t looked up at the right moment, he wouldn’t have caught the look of grief and shame on Merlin’s face as he looked back across the fire. And then he looked down and his face was cast in dancing shadows, and Arthur closed his eyes. How long was it going to take him to learn?

“We should make the town by tomorrow afternoon,” Merlin said quietly. He was playing with a stick, spinning it between his fingers.

“Sorry,” Arthur said gruffly. He cleared his throat. Merlin didn’t smile. “I’m just—not used to it yet.”

Merlin stopped spinning the stick in his fingers and tossed it into the fire. “You should be used to it,” he said flatly. “How long have you known now? How many times have you seen me use magic or seen my eyes change colour?”

“I know—” Arthur started.

“Yeah, you do, and it’s—it’s not making any difference.”

Arthur tipped his head up, breathing in stifling air and trying to think of something to say. His mind was slow, syrupy and fuzzy. “It’s a lot for me to take in,” he said at last. There was a strangely desperate glimmer in Merlin’s eye, and then he was standing and somehow Merlin was sitting beside him instead of across the fire. His eyes were moving over Arthur’s face and his hand was lying on Arthur’s bandaged palm, fingers tracing unconsciously over the rough bandages. The crackle of the fire was loud in his ears. The heat was burning his face and sparks flew every few seconds.

“I know that,” Merlin whispered. His eyes were sad and far older than he had any right to look. “This is why it’s a secret.”

Arthur chuckled, low and soft. He was focusing more on Merlin’s hand than the words coming out of his mouth. “Not because you’d be dead if I hadn’t—“ his voice faltered. “If I knew and had stayed?”

“Nah,” Merlin said casually. His hand trailed down Arthur’s wrist and fell back to the ground, and Arthur frowned, unable to express his abrupt sense of loss. “Wasn’t worried about you killing me.”

“Of course not,” Arthur said with a mock sense of surety. “Just how I felt about it, right?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. He was grinning now. “Just you.”

 

* * *

 

In the three hours since Gwen had been arrested, Arthur had gone through what he felt was four of the five stages of grief. He had paced around his room and shouted at empty air and pleaded with any divine being that could be listening, but still nothing had changed, and the guards outside his door and in the square remained impassive.

Upstairs in Gaius’s quarters, Merlin had been unconscious for nearly an hour and a half of that time. Gaius had been staring at him for about forty minutes. He had not gone through any of the stages of grief, as far as he knew, but he felt he was getting dangerously close to denial, and had to resist shouting at Merlin to see if that would wake him up. He had tried shaking him, slapping him, dousing him in cold water, and the most he had gotten out of him was a half audible moan and a restless twitch. His eyes opened every once in a while, dazed and unfocused, and then they would flutter shut again. Every time Gaius would stand up and repeat his name, excitement leaping in his stomach, and it would die down as he realized Merlin didn’t recognize him.

A whimper escaped the boy’s mouth and Gaius’s eyes flicked from the heavy book lying in front of him to Merlin. His hair was pasted to his forehead with sweat and his arm had been twitching for the last ten minutes. His mouth was tight and his brow drawn and his breath was uneven, and every time he drew in a shuddering breath, another spring of bitter regret shot up inside Gaius. He should never have let Merlin try an aging spell. He alone had known how difficult it would be, he was the only one who could counsel Merlin in these respects, and he was a kid. Reckless and powerful but bright with naivety, and if Gaius hadn’t let him try it he wouldn’t be lying here now, his heart weakening with every beat and his lungs failing him.

The most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth, and he was going to die from the effects of an aging spell.

Gaius ignored the stinging lump in his throat and stared down at his book, willing himself to absorb some of the information that might be able to help. When he could focus again, he realized he was looking at a spell to turn toenails purple, and he slammed the book shut.

 

It was late now, and Arthur hadn’t been expecting the soft knock at his door. It couldn’t be anyone but Merlin and God knew Merlin never knocked.

“Come in,” Arthur called brusquely, turning away from his window, and was subsequently surprised to find Gaius standing at the door instead of Merlin. “Gaius,” Arthur said, an alien swoop of disappointment in his stomach. “I said I didn’t want an examination, and anyway Merlin did it as soon as we got up here.”

“I’m not here for you, Arthur,” Gaius said. He was, as he had always been, unreadable.

 “Then why are you here?” Arthur said, turning around and beginning to pace again. “Merlin got drunk to stave off the inevitability of Gwen’s death, is that it?”

“Merlin is sick, sire,” Gaius said evenly, and Arthur froze. “Sick,” he answered, when he could move his mouth again. “What—I just saw him a couple hours ago, he can’t possibly be sick. He’s faking.”

“I’m afraid not,” Gaius said, placing his hands behind his back. “A fever took him earlier this evening, and since then I have been struggling with whether or not to tell you.”

“Merlin’s sick,” Arthur repeated. There was something in Gaius’s gaze that made him afraid, and the words felt too solid, too immovable.

“Yes.”

“I have to see him,” Arthur said automatically. “Gaius, I have to see him.”

“The guards at your door may have a different opinion, sire.”

“I don’t care about the guards,” Arthur said, rounding on Gaius. “Tell them anything, tell them this—this _enchantment_ Gwen put on me might kill me if you don’t do something right now, or run some sort of test, or anything, just—just get me out of here. I have to see him,”  he repeated again, knowing he sounded like a parrot and unable to help himself. The vague fear that had been creeping up on him was clutching at his heart now; the only time Gaius’s mouth was set like that was if someone was dying.

Gaius inclined his head and left the room.

Arthur could hear the slow murmur of voices outside his door, the harsh answer of a guard and he gritted his teeth, wanting more than anything to go out there and solve the problem by knocking them both out, but no doubt that would bring down at least eight more knights on him and he’d never make it to Gaius’s quarters at all.

He resumed his pacing.

When the door opened and Gaius nodded, sickening fear and euphoria roiled in Arthur’s stomach and he pushed his way past the guards, throwing them both an insolent look that they seemed not to see. Gaius walked right behind him with his usual unhurried gait, making Arthur want to snap or run or burst with impatience. When he did finally fling open the door to Gaius’s chambers, he stopped dead in the threshold.

He could hear Merlin from where he was and just make out the top of his dark head, and suddenly Arthur didn’t want to go in. He didn’t want to see what was wrong, not if it couldn’t be fixed. First Gwen and now Merlin, all in less than a day...he staggered forward until he could see Merlin lying on the examination table. His eyes were shut, his breath was shallow and his body was restless, shuddering and contracting with every breath as though it caused him physical pain.

“What’s wrong with him,” Arthur whispered hoarsely. He stumbled forward into a chair, gripping at the edges of the tables until his knuckles were white and he feared they would split.

“I don’t know, sire,” Gaius said, and he had lost that assured tone, he was shaken, which scared Arthur almost as much as seeing Merlin unable to move.

“But you can do something, right,” Arthur said, abandoning the table and gripping Merlin’s damp hand instead. It twitched in his own.

“I am looking for a cure. It seems to be just a fever, the occasional convulsion. But...my usual methods are not working. I don’t suppose you could carry him into his room for me?”

“Of course,” Arthur muttered absently. His arms slid under Merlin’s waist and the crook of his knees and lifted him up. Merlin’s hand clutched weakly at Arthur and his head lolled against his shoulder. His breaths were shorter, harder.

“Gaius, he’s having more trouble breathing,” Arthur said, trying to regulate his own breathing and keep from panicking. _First Gwen, now Merlin, not him too, don’t take him..._

“Get him on his bed and I’ll take another look.”  

As soon as Arthur had laid him on his bed Merlin had taken an awful, rasping gasp, sucking it in through his teeth and his back curving up as though he couldn’t get the air.

“Trouble with his lungs,” Gaius said quickly, leaning down and placing a practiced finger over Merlin’s neck where the pulse beat. “Sit him up, Arthur, now.”

Obediently Arthur gripped him and lifted him up, pulling him up so he could sit against the headboard. His fingers caught on the knobs of his spine. “He’s too skinny,” Arthur muttered, sitting on the chair beside Merlin’s bed. Gaius gave a strained chuckle, which made him abruptly more human than the stolid physician Arthur had grown up with. “He’s always been too skinny.”

“Yeah.”

They stayed where they were for what felt like hours, frozen by Merlin’s side. The seconds ticked torturously  by, broken by the occasional moan, which Arthur could handle, horrible gasps for air, which were not as easy for him to contend with, and convulsions, which made Arthur want to leave the room and grip Merlin so hard his bones might break all at the same time.

_Good God, what if he’s dying. What then? First Gwen, now Merlin, first Gwen, now Merlin..._

She floated through his guilt-ridden mind every few minutes, making him flinch. Gwen was going to die, not today but in the next few days, and here he was, terrified for the life of his servant instead of downstairs with her.

But this thought vanished with every other breath Merlin took, the sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, his hazy eyes fluttering open, and Arthur was focusing on him again, hoping beyond hope that Gaius would find a cure or something to help, that he was wrong in the first place and Arthur's servant wasn’t dying. That something would break and it wouldn't be Merlin.


	4. Singing Steel

Arthur had loved the summer since he was born. The light tanned his skin and turned his hair to thin-spun gold, the gardens burst with vivid colour and he would drink in the heat however he could. He liked the cicadas keening high in the trees, he liked how the heat made the world move in waves, he liked the rich tang of life in the air.

In a dim memory of a summer that had long ago slipped away, Arthur could see his father standing at the balcony at high noon. His hands were clutching at the burning stone. Arthur had looked up at him and grinned; he had planned to throw an egg over the head of someone in the courtyard but he’d be damned if he’d do it in front of the king. Uther had looked down on him and sighed and smiled, and looked away again. He had said something, Arthur knew. He strained to remember half-forgotten sentences strung together, flickering weakly in the back of his head, and when it came to him just a few slow minutes later Arthur remembered why he had forgotten.

_“You were your mother’s child, you know. You were born to heat and light like this. She said you had sunshine for a tuft of hair and cloudy skies in your eyes before she...well. She loved you. And you belong with her far more than you ever belonged with me.”_

Uther had walked back inside with his last ruminations trailing off into the breeze. Arthur had watched his father leave, left with a broken egg dripping down his hand and wondering if that was his father’s way of telling him that he wished his son was dead.

These were his thoughts when Merlin opened his eyes with the first clarity Arthur had seen all night. Arthur immediately stifled a cry and turned to shout for Gaius, only to remember that he had gone for more water, and tried to ignore the poisonous thought that had sprung up in his mind from nothing; that the summer sky had left his eyes for good and lived in his servant’s instead.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, tight relief flooding his voice, he was happier than he wanted to admit. He leaned closer, his hand still tight on Merlin’s. “Good God, Merlin, you scared me.”

But his eyes were unfocused and peculiarly off-kilter, as though he was looking at something past Arthur’s shoulder. “Water,” he croaked. Arthur was hardly a physician, but it was no trick to see how much that word had cost him. He scarcely noticed Merlin’s fingers on his, rubbing slow circles into the back of his hand. If he had been paying attention he might have realized that this was the only lucid thing Merlin was doing.

His breath hitched in the back of his throat and his eyes, empty blue glass, fixated on Arthur’s. Every breath he took was costing him more and his tongue ran over his cracked lips. There was no smile, no ghost of a grin on Merlin’s mouth, and the relief vanished as soon as it had come. There was something terrible in his face, something Arthur didn’t want to know.

“Water,” Merlin repeated.

“Water, yes, wait—just let me—” Arthur said, looking around for Gaius, again remembering half a beat later that he had gone. “Just wait, Gaius will be back soo—”

“Don’t tell him,” Merlin said hoarsely. He tried to sit up but didn’t get far, the blankets were tangled around his legs and he fell back against the pillow.

Arthur frowned and released his hand. “Tell what?”

“Don’t let him tell,” Merlin repeated, half urgent and half dreamy. His eyes were glazed over, hardly moving. _Delirious_ , Arthur thought. He swallowed the nausea, the urge to get up and close the door behind him and never come back. “I—I don’t want to die. Please. Please don’t tell.”

“Tell _what_ , Merlin, what is it?” Arthur’s heart was beating faster and he wasn’t sure why. There was some sort of tension lurking in his stomach and at the back of his throat. But Merlin only grew more panicked. “He can’t know,” he said wildly. “He can’t know, he’ll kill me, I don’t want to die, I don’t want him to die—”

“Him? Who’s him? Gaius?”

Merlin swallowed thickly. “Can’t tell him.”

“Okay,” Arthur said, trying to placate him. “Okay, I won’t tell.”

“Do you promise,” Merlin said; he seemed more coherent now, he was looking directly into Arthur’s eyes but without the warmth Arthur was so used to. _He doesn’t recognize me_ , he realized with a pang. _He has no idea I’m here with him._

“I promise,” Arthur said. His voice was breaking. All the tension went out of Merlin’s body at once and he slumped backwards, a distracted half-smile on his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured, and then he stretched out his arm, and Arthur only had a split second to wonder what he was doing before Merlin’s eyes began to glow like fire, and a cup of water on the opposite side of the room flew into his hand.

 

* * *

 

The village of Ulinar was small but bustling with life, far busier than Ealdor had ever been. The people spoke in rough cadences and some clamoured for business, he could hear the clang of a blacksmith not far off. Every step kicked up dust and brown, cracked leaves and the houses they passed were squat but well kept. If anything it reminded Merlin of the lower town in Camelot, which made uneasiness roil in his stomach and he glanced behind him so frequently Arthur asked if he had a twitch.

“No,” Merlin muttered, unable to stop himself from doing it again. “I’m just—I don’t know. Anyone could recognize you.”

Arthur snorted and pulled the scarf tighter about his head. “Recognize me? I’m wearing rags and covered in so much dirt our hair looks like it’s the same colour.”

“It’s the way you walk,” Merlin hissed, slowing down to avoid an official walking along the other side of the cobblestone street. He made a wild gesture. “Like you own this whole village and you know it.”

“I’m supposed to own the next kingdom over,” Arthur muttered, striding along beside an increasingly aggravated Merlin.

“Can you just keep your head down for the few hours we’re going to be here? I don’t want to have to blast anyone into dust.” A woman passing them threw Merlin a sharp look, drawing her basket of laundry closer to her body and Merlin swallowed and looked away.

“But you could,” Arthur said, as though it was absurdly obvious to anyone and Merlin shouldn’t have any qualms about it.

“Yeah...I also could’ve let about a million other people kill you, and then I wouldn’t have any worries at all. But I have a conscience,” Merlin said, giving a severe, blinding smile that evaporated as soon as he caught glance of the same official he had seen a moment ago walking a few feet behind him. His beady eyes were fixed on Arthur’s back, who still hadn’t taken any hints on how to act like an ordinary civilian.

Merlin grabbed Arthur by the arm and dragged him headlong into the nearest shop, Arthur sputtering and stumbling right behind him. As soon as Merlin had pulled him through the threshold he shut the door and muttered a quick spell that slammed the bolt shut with so much force the entire shop shuddered.

Arthur ripped his arm out of Merlin’s grip. “What was that for,” he said in a distinctly aggrieved tone. He blinked and looked around as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light and a horrible smell accosted his nose; they had walked into some sort of apothecary. It stank like summer, sweat and wine and rotting meat. Bundles of strange herbs hung from the ceiling and something that looked like small black pebbles glinted in a barrel by the counter, but Arthur didn’t have the stomach to investigate further.

“Guard,” Merlin said, interrupting Arthur’s train of thought and looking through a crack in the door to glimpse the street outside. The sliver of light through the wood lit up his eye in the dim shop, making them queerly mismatched.

“What guard,” Arthur said, drawing his sword at once and making the steel sing, ringing through the room. It felt unfamiliar in his hand. Like it had lost whatever loyalty it had felt to him, or perhaps that was just his newfound aversion to it. He swallowed the urge to drop the blade.

“Put it _down_ ,” Merlin said desperately. “He’s just a few feet from the door, don’t—”

But it was too late, the door flew open with a bang and Merlin was flung backwards with it, hitting the wall with an ugly thud. There was no cry of pain but Merlin’s mouth thinned into a hard white line and his eyes sparkled with anger. The man who had stormed the door stood in the threshold now, taking sluggish stock of both of them. His eyes resembled the pebbles in the barrel and he had the body of an oak tree, but unfortunately not the height—he stood half a hand shorter than Arthur but this meant nothing, shorter men had bested him before. The man wielded a hideous grey weapon with a splintered handle and Arthur nodded at it. “How many toothpicks did it take to bind that thing together?”

The man squinted and swung the axe up in a slow arc as though testing it. When he spoke his voice was low and guttural. “You are coming with me.”

“I think I’ll...skip it, thanks,” Arthur said, twisting the handle of his own sword in his hand. “I’ve got errands to run.”

The man’s eyes narrowed to slits and he advanced, but Arthur stood his ground. A familiar adrenaline was racing through his blood and he fought the urge to grin, to let a laugh burst out of his mouth. This was territory he knew like the back of his hand. How he had longed for a good fight since leaving Camelot, this would be brilliant—

But he had barely stepped forward to take the first experimental swing before some unseen force blasted the man sideways. He flew into the wall and Arthur heard a gruesome _crack_ before the man slid to the floor and his eyes rolled up into his head, and he was still. Arthur stepped back, sucking in a stunned breath.

He turned to see Merlin standing with his gaze still fastened on the man. The blood was leaking as slow as sap from his head, running down past his eye to his crude jaw.

“Merlin,’ Arthur said, his eyes still wide. The hand holding the blade slackened. “What—”

Before he could finish, the door at the back of the shop creaked open. Both Arthur and Merlin wheeled round to see a slack-jawed shopkeeper holding a cup of tea and gaping at them both, and Arthur winced. He knew exactly what this looked like. The door was destroyed, there was a massive pile of splinters and decayed wood where the guard now lay, and somewhere along the way one of the barrels had tipped over. It held, not pebbles, as Arthur realized with a swoop of nausea, but desiccated insect eyes.

And both he and Merlin stood directly in the middle of the room, unhurt and undisguised.

“Go!” Merlin shouted, in as authoritative a voice as Arthur had ever heard him use. The shopkeeper flinched back but didn’t turn away, amber liquid steaming as it spilled from his cup and to the floor. Merlin waited one breathless second and then stepped forward. He jerked his head forward and the cup burst apart in the shopkeeper’s hand. “Leave!”

This time he scurried away, leaving a trail of broken ceramic pieces behind him, and Merlin relaxed.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Arthur said, turning on his friend with shocked disbelief. “You just—and then you—in front of him—”

“Yes, Arthur, I signed my own death warrant,” Merlin said with devastating sarcasm. “Like I haven’t done that before. Come on let’s go, he’s going to come running back with a guard any minute.”

“We’re not leaving until we get that glass,” Arthur said and to his surprise, Merlin shrugged and nodded. “We’ve already told every Camelot patrol within a hundred miles where we are, might as well get what we came for.”

“Are you serious?” Arthur said. “What’s wrong with you? You should be dragging me back home right now.”

“We can have a heartfelt conversation about my change of mind later, after we get the panel of glass and steal a couple of horses,” Merlin said, walking past the unconscious man without a second glance and stepping into sunlight.

“Steal—what?”

“Horses,” Merlin said with ill-disguised impatience. “You don’t think we’re going to get away on foot, do you?”

“I mean—no, but you shouldn’t want to steal horses!” Arthur protested, following Merlin out into the open without sparing a look for the townspeople that had stopped to stare.

“Why not?” Merlin said mildly, leaving their scene of destruction behind. “We’re shot to hell anyway. And I’ll leave money. And I’ll make sure they get back once we’re home, we won’t keep them. Loosen up.”

“The only reason we’re _shot to hell_ is because you wouldn’t let me take care of that guy using a sword instead of—of—magic fingers.”

Merlin paused long enough to throw him an amused smile. “We didn’t have time for you to swing a sword for the first time since…” He paused.

“It’s been a while,” Arthur finished for him. They were walking quicker now, houses and people blurring by. “And I can still outmatch anyone, there was no need to blow him away.”

“ _Blow him away_?” Merlin repeated with derision, and might have said more had they not caught sight of a sign above a grubby cottage claiming this was where glassworkers lived. Merlin halted and looked up at it with a somewhat cheerful expression, but Arthur studied it with a frown. The sign was coarse and to the point, and even when Arthur risked a glance through the window, he could see nothing through the light film of grease that covered it.

“Well,” Merlin said. “We’re here.”

 “They’re glassworkers,” Arthur grumbled as Merlin pushed open the door. “Why aren’t their windows clean? Is it that much work? You never had trouble with the windows in Came—ow!” Arthur yelped and rubbed his ribs with an affronted expression; Merlin had jabbed his elbow there.

“We’re just looking for a window pane,” Merlin said loudly, sidestepping Arthur to address a rather gormless clerk who made no move except to watch them aimlessly.

 “Uh...right,” the boy said, catching on just a little too late. “I’ll take you through.”

                 

In the end stealing the horses hadn’t been all that hard. It was only afterwards when Merlin dropped the coins, causing someone to look up and shout, that it became a problem. Galloping through a well-populated village with a horse and a crafted piece of glass was no easy feat, but either luck or magic was with them, because they made it to the edge of the woods with nothing broken between them. Both of them were panting and flushed red by the time they could look into the yawning mouth of the forest but the glass was unbroken, and Arthur could see no pursuit.

“I think…we made it,” he said with some degree of disbelief, reining in his horse. “Huh. Did you have something to do with that?”

“No,” Merlin said. He was breathing as hard as Arthur was. “That’s weird.”

“I don’t suppose it’s—the forest, is it?”

“What does that mean?”

Arthur was chewing on his lip, contemplating why someone wouldn’t go after stolen horses settling only a couple miles out from the village. “Look where the village is situated. Not anywhere near the trees, it’s practically in a plain. And we’ve never seen another soul in there, and now we’ve just stolen two horses and there isn’t a single person running after us.”

“So?”

“ _So_ ,” Arthur said impatiently, “what if they think it’s haunted or something? Or dangerous?”

Merlin shrugged. “Then they think it’s haunted. We’ve been in there every day since we left Camelot and we’re fine.”

“Still, it’s weird.”

“Well, let me know when you oil the cogs in your brain and we’ll leave. Sound good?” He was already riding into the forest, leaving a frowning Arthur behind.

But even Merlin had trouble with his horse once the light had vanished, settling on top of the roof of leaves and matted twigs instead of streaming through them. The light from the entrance had already gone, vanishing into a pinprick as though the trees had closed behind them. The going was slow if not slower with two nervous horses; they had not gone far before an irate Merlin was wondering aloud if it was worth it. It was just as damp and the air as thick and stuffy as Arthur remembered and the horses knew it as well as they did. They were skittish and their eyes flickered from side to side, and the smallest sign of wildlife had them rearing in fear. The path was not wide and the wind did not sound like wind, it whispered secrets in an ancient tongue, mingling with the sound of a far-off brook until rotting branches and heavy leaves strangled the noise.

Every once in a while they would come across dull light that had filtered through onto the path, gasping for air, but they rode on, and if one of them looked back, whatever sun was there had gone. Merlin could sense eyes on the back of his head watching his every move, and though he tried to convince himself it was Arthur he couldn’t help looking around every few minutes to see what it was. As soon as he’d turn around the feeling would disappear, and he would turn back to face the path and the horrible feeling would rest in his mind again. Goosebumps prickled up and down his arms every time he did this.

Thick strands of ivy swung in front of the path like putrid garlands, moving with the muggy breeze. Merlin ducked every time but Arthur was almost never paying attention, and Merlin neglected to warn him just to hear him curse and spit out a mouthful of crumbling leaves every so often, a grin twitching at the corner of his lips.

By early evening the cracks between the trees seemed to vanish and the sun with it. Merlin muttered something under his breath and a harsh light flared in his hand, illuminating the path before them as to not miss a twist in the path. But this didn’t last long, Merlin was tired and the light flickered and died before an hour had passed with it.

Arthur inhaled sharply as the ball of light and the silhouette of Merlin’s slim hand vanished, and Merlin chuckled into the darkness. “Sorry,” he said. “This is taking it out of me.”

“It’s fine,” Arthur said. “Let’s just stop for the night, there’s no point continuing if we miss something on the path.”

“True enough,” Merlin said wearily, and reined in his horse.

 

Just a few hours off, their small cottage stood in the darkness. No light glimmered within and the curtains moved in the soft breeze. Fireflies drifted lazily among the grass and a small cat prowled at the window, blinking great grey eyes that almost glowed in the dark. Crickets sang and abruptly stopped, leaping away in panic at the sound of a soft shoe stepping on the grass.

Hestia’s ears pricked up.

A figure in a billowing cloak moved quickly among grass and the wildflowers. Fireflies flew and the wildlife that made their home there scampered away, but the figure did not so much as look to the side. It arrived at the front door and drew down its hood. It gripped the door handle and Hestia’s hackles began to rise, standing stiff. She hissed at the newcomer, but the figure pulled the door open and slipped inside. There was another fierce hiss, a sudden spark as though fire leapt to life, and then there was silence.

The crickets resumed their song and the fireflies began to blink again. The stars were coming out.


	5. And Your Mind Is Not Your Own

                  Hestia was not at all pleased with the appearance of a stranger in her cottage.

                  Granted this stranger had a scent like lilacs and a mane of bushy hair that bounced on her slim shoulders and a kind look in her eye whenever she glanced Hestia’s way, but despite all of that, she was still a stranger. She didn’t belong here.

                  She talked to herself as well, something Hestia heartily disapproved of. Whenever the other two did that it was a sign that something was wrong. So, firm in her condemnation of this perfect stranger marching into a place that was not her own, Hestia passed the time by lying solidly in front of the fireplace, swishing her tail and fixing her eyes on this unknown woman with a searing glare that would have any other common cat or decent person, running.

                  But all her efforts came to nothing. The woman stayed through the night and well into the morning, at which time Hestia grew bored and hungry and decided that clearly she was unable to do anything about this immediate threat. So she left to hunt.

                  The sun had almost completed half its arc across an azure sky by the time the sound of low talking outside the door alerted the woman that someone was coming. A happy shine sparkled in her eyes and a smile curved her lips as she listened to the unmistakable voices she hadn’t heard in months, and she waited in the kitchen with her heart leaping.

                  “Because it doesn’t make sense,” someone was saying. The doorknob rattled. “It’s creepy in there, yeah, but these are good horses! Someone broke them in properly, worked hard with them. They would’ve been worth a lot of money.”

                  “Would you please _shut up_ about the horses,” another answered exasperatedly. “I get you’re bored, but if you keep going with this little theory of yours I’m going to shove a hoof so far up your ass you’ll be picking it out of your teeth.”

                  The other one made an undignified noise as the doorknob finally clicked and the door creaked open.

                  “Merlin, if you don’t—” one of them started, and halted abruptly in the threshold. His eyes grew wide and his hand loosened on the package in his hand. It would’ve fallen to the floor if not for a hastily muttered spell from the person behind him, but Arthur didn’t notice. He was gaping at the woman standing in their kitchen.

                  “Gwen?” he said at last, still gawking, and she smiled. “Arthur.” Her voice was warmer than he remembered, it had the familiar accents of home and she didn’t sound tired, she was looking right at him instead of bowing her head ever so slightly like she used to, she was wearing one of her favourite dresses—

                  But Arthur’s gaze paused at her hand where something shone off the sun, and a sharp elbow jabbing into his spine threw his attention. He yelped and lurched to the side, rubbing the small of his back, and Merlin stepped into the house.

                  “Gwen!” he said, beaming, and rushed forward to hug her.

                  “Hi Merlin,” she said. She was grinning; whatever sadness had been in her face at the sight of Arthur had vanished. Jealousy immediately began to bloom in Arthur’s chest but practicality strangled it, he was the cause for that sadness. Merlin certainly wasn’t.

                  The afternoon wore on and to his intense surprise, Arthur found himself watching Merlin more than Gwen. Her smile was bright and she talked like a spring wind blew, as she always had. But although Merlin rarely spoke, leaving the conversation to her and Arthur, he was practically buzzing with animation. His eyes were intent like he was drinking in everything Gwen had to say, and when he did speak, they both fell silent in a strange reversal of roles. It should have been Merlin keeping silent to listen to Arthur, giving him a glaring reminder that Merlin was no longer his servant. In the life they now led, they were equals.

                  Gwen waited until evening to tell them she was engaged. Arthur had known from the second he saw the ring glinting on her finger but Merlin clearly hadn’t noticed, a stunned silence met her announcement. Even Hestia paused to fasten glaring eyes on her, insolently chewing up a spider as the quiet grew louder in Arthur’s ears.

                  “Er—well, congratulations,” Merlin finally managed. Arthur could practically feel his eyes anxiously analyzing Arthur’s own face, looking for any sign of shock.

                  “Yes,” Arthur said, forcing his face into a stiff smile. “Congratulations.”

                  “Thanks,” Gwen said, smiling shyly. She was twisting the ring on her finger like the weight of it was still unfamiliar on her hand.

No one had to ask who she was marrying. They could both read it in the bright flush on her face, the air of utter happiness she exuded. Arthur could almost see an identical expression on Lancelot’s face, minus the slight tinge of regret that Gwen carried with her and to his astonishment, the knife he had been expecting to twist in his stomach hadn’t appeared. There was sadness of course, and a distinct feeling of missed opportunities. He loved Gwen. Maybe more than the friendship that Merlin regarded her with, but not the way Lancelot loved her.

He only had a moment to sift through all this in his mind before Merlin asked about the wedding. The conversation quickly devolved into flowers and the trouble of having a wedding in such a small town, not that she wasn’t glad it was going to be a small ceremony, but she would have liked something a little different, especially having lived in Camelot her whole life, she’d seen so many weddings done—

“I forgot,” Arthur said abruptly, cutting Gwen off mid-sentence. She paused and looked at him. “You can’t get married in Camelot, can you? Lancelot’s banished.”

Gwen stared at the ground, still twisting her ring. “It’s, uh—not just that. I don’t live in Camelot anymore.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped. “You—you what? You don’t? Why not?”

                  “You can’t guess?” Merlin muttered under his breath. Arthur ignored him and leaned forward. “If you were going to leave Camelot, why didn’t you come with us? There was plenty of room, I—Merlin wouldn’t have minded. You were standing right there, I asked you and everything, I wanted you to. Why didn’t you come?” The desperate edge in his voice was becoming more noticeable the more he talked.

                  Gwen exhaled slowly. “It wasn’t that simple. I wanted to find Lancelot. I’d already been accused as a sorcerer, coming so close and then getting off meant people looked at me differently. Morgana told me just to ignore them, that being accused of magic wasn’t such a horrible thing, they were overreacting…everything. She tried everything. But I still couldn’t stay, especially after you two left.”

                  Merlin opened his mouth, looking weirdly inquisitive, but Arthur spoke before he could. “That doesn’t explain why you didn’t join us. You were right there.” He had the vague feeling that he was being too aggressive, underlined by Merlin’s hard nudge in his ribs, but he was too curious—or maybe too upset—to let it go.

                  “Honestly, Arthur, isn’t it obvious?” Merlin said impatiently. “You think Uther wouldn’t have sent someone to follow her, knowing she was going to go to you? If she’d come to us right after leaving, I’d be dead and you would be on a throne right now, waving that stupid sword.”

                  “Oh,” Arthur said, blinking. “I guess that makes sense.”

                  Gwen grinned. “Lovely king you would have made. Merlin would’ve had to make all the important decisions.”

                  Arthur snorted. “Please. Without me he would be dead out here.”

                  “To be fair, I can start a fire from thin air,” Merlin said dryly. “Not that your brilliant observation skills ever came into use when I did that over the years.”

                  “What, did you _want_ me to see?” Arthur asked, rounding on him. Merlin shrugged and a tiny smile flitted across his mouth. “If I knew you were going to react like this, yeah. That would’ve been great.”

                  Arthur grinned at him, eyes sparkling and lost for words.

Neither one noticed Gwen watching them with a small, almost hidden smile on her lips.

 

“It’s your turn.”

“It’s not.”

“It is! I milked Fred last _and_ I didn’t break the window that made us go into town. It’s definitely your turn.”

“The window has nothing to do with it!”

“Wow,” Gwen sighed. “Not much has changed, has it?”

“Fine,” Merlin said. “I’ll do the dishes. But you’re milking Fred tomorrow.”

                  Arthur shrugged, a smug expression sitting solidly on his face.

                  “I’ll help,” Gwen said, following Merlin into the kitchen. He shot his own smug glance back at Arthur, who flipped him off.

                  The golden sunshine was melting into the horizon like butter on bread. The trace outline of a pale moon was already beginning to show and a deer was standing just outside the cottage in a remarkable show of courage, cocking her head at the peals of laughter that dissolved into the air. At the sound of a cat’s low hiss, the deer flinched and bounded away into the forest.

                  Inside, Merlin was drying dishes and humming under his breath. He had sent Gwen back to Arthur, who had chuckled at her disgruntled expression.

                  “Merlin’s picky about dishes,” he said. “He likes to do them alone.”

                  “Why doesn’t he just use magic?”

                  Arthur shrugged, leaning back into the chair. “Says it keeps his mind busy. And he does enough magic as it is,” he added sharply. “It’s a miracle he’s not sitting on Uther’s table, crispy brown with an herb dressing.”

                  “Mm…” Gwen said. Her expression was strangely opaque, like it was an effort not to say what she wanted to.

                  They spent a few more minutes in comfortable silence. Merlin was humming Arthur’s favourite song, and Arthur closed his eyes to listen. It mingled comfortably with the sound of dishes clacking together and quiet footsteps on the wooden floor, the grass ruffling and the occasional bird. He didn’t realize he was whistling the melody along with Merlin until he opened his eyes and saw Gwen smiling at him. He stopped at once.

“What,” he said defensively.

                  “Nothing,” she said softly. “You just look like you’re home.”

                  Arthur blinked. “I am home.”

                  “I mean you’re comfortable here. With him.” She jerked her head towards the kitchen. “In a cottage in the middle of nowhere, cooking and cleaning and making your own living.”

                  “Well…this is my life now. I like it.”

                  “I can see that.” Gwen looked closer at him, her face no longer hard to read. Arthur shifted away uncomfortably. “You left your family, the most powerful throne in the five kingdoms and everything that came with it for a servant and a wooden cottage.”

                  “And a fire breathing cat,” Arthur muttered. “Didn’t expect that bit.”

                  “I’m just wondering…I mean, Merlin could have made it on his own. And you knew that.”

                  “Yeah…”

                  “So why go with him?” Her eyes, always so kind, felt like they were boring into his now. He couldn’t make himself break away from her gaze.

                  “I mean…I don’t know, I guess just—I thought that—that he might need me,” Arthur ended lamely.

                  Gwen wasn’t smiling now, instead a wistful expression was etched across her features. “He does need you, I think. And you need him.”

                  Arthur gave an awkward shrug. “Doesn’t matter now. We’re here now.”

                  “Actually,” she said, “I think the reason you came with him is the one thing that does matter. And it’s not because you thought he might need you.”

                  Gwen got up with a knowing glance and walked back to the kitchen. Arthur heard their voices distantly, he was too busy mulling over what she had just said to pay them any real attention. Beside him, Hestia swished her tail and glanced at him with almost the same expression as Gwen, looking very much as though she agreed with what had just been said.

 

                  * * *

                 

                  Arthur wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbled back into Gaius’s chambers, trying not to slip in his own sick.

                  The night was wilting with heat, the air heavy and humid. Gaius still hadn’t returned and Merlin hadn’t regained any lucidity, muttering and whimpering and damp with perspiration. Mosquitoes buzzed languidly around his face and Merlin flinched every time one came too close, but Arthur simply stood and watched. He couldn’t bring himself to touch him.

                  The same image swam up to the forefront of his mind every time he closed his eyes. Moonlight gleaming on Merlin’s hair and glinting in his half-closed eyes. The same soft, delirious smile crossing his face. Stretching his hand out, beckoning to something invisible, and then his eyes burning like beaten gold and a cup full of water floating slowly across the room into his hand.

                  Arthur swallowed and gagged, trying to keep the contents of his stomach to stay in his stomach for a little longer. For the better part of an hour his emotions had been boiling, ranging from anger to betrayal to pity and back to anger with dizzying rapidity. He had vomited twice, shouted until he was hoarse, and occasionally tears welled up in his eyes. In one unbearably guilt-ridden moment he had even gone for his sword, levelling it at Merlin’s throat and watching him struggle to breathe until his hand was shaking so badly he was forced to drop it. He could still hear it clattering to the ground, unmarked with blood.

Magical blood.

                  He swung around again, taking the cup out of Merlin’s limp hand and whipping it at the wall. It smashed terrifically and did nothing to make Arthur feel better. He stood there for a moment watching the glass shards sparkle in the dust, fighting the urge to grab another vial and throw it, preferably at Merlin’s head.

                  “Arthur?”

                  He wheeled around to see Gaius holding a bundle of herbs in his hand and a mildly surprised expression on his face. “Did you break that glass?”

                  “Merlin,” Arthur said gutturally, ignoring whatever Gaius had just said. “He—he—”

                  “He what?” Gaius’s face was blank, shaded with concern. Arthur had opened his mouth, the words were bubbling up to his tongue and it was a horribly empty moment before he snapped his mouth shut again. _He doesn’t know_ , Arthur recognized, with a shock so huge it almost had him reeling backwards. _Not even Gaius knows._

 _Of course not,_ a more reasonable voice in his head answered. _Anyone knows and he’s risking his life that much more. Why tell anyone that doesn’t absolutely need to know?_

 _And Gaius doesn’t need to know?_ Arthur argued in his head. _He’s Gaius’s apprentice, practically his son, and Merlin didn’t trust him enough to tell him? But he showed me, what kind of sense does that make?_

 _He was delirious,_ the voice said patiently. _He probably didn’t have any control over it and probably won’t remember it when he does wake up._

If _he wakes up,_ Arthur thought wretchedly.

                  _Yes. If he wakes up. His life will rest in your hands if he does, you know._

                  “Good gods—stop it,” Arthur muttered, and then immediately realized Gaius was still watching him.

“Are you alright, sire?” Gaius asked, in that carefully constructed tone that made it sound like Arthur had just had a psychotic break.

                  “I’m fine,” Arthur said. He was doing his best to sound unaffected but tears were pricking in his eyes and the hand that had thrown the cup was trembling. He felt like his whole world had just tilted slightly off-kilter, like someone had gone into his chambers and moved everything three inches to the left. He was almost sure this was the same reality he’d been in an hour ago, but those three inches were making him question everything. “Just—let me know when he wakes up.”

                  He couldn’t remember how he got to his chambers. He ignored the lightning that forked terrifically across the sky, the clouds that hung like bruises. The buzzing in his head clashed oddly with the ceaseless rumble of thunder and the rain lashing against the window.

                  The door closed behind him. He could feel his nails grinding into his palms, thudding with a dull pain that he didn’t notice. When he could relax his hands there was blood and skin caked under his fingers.

                  Arthur didn’t make it to the bed. His knees gave out and he sank to the floor by the hearth where a small fire glowed. He dug his fist into his mouth, trying to stifle the sobs wracking his body but it did nothing, the sound of them rang through the room and bounced around in his skull until he was dizzy with it. His body curved into itself until pain began to lance through his joints.

                  Thoughts were racing through his mind with blinding speed, anger and pity and surreal betrayal all pooling in his stomach and rising in his throat, and he was sick with it. He wanted nothing more than to go back and close his eyes, to never see what he had seen. Everything was wrong, his servant did not have magic, there must be something he missed, something that would make sense.

                  _Yes,_ an unprompted voice said dryly. _He has magic, that’s what you missed._

“Stop,” Arthur choked out, pressing his hand to his mouth so hard he was sure he was going to break a tooth. “I—I can’t—”

                  _You can’t?_ the voice replied. _You can’t what? Spend the days working for the son of the man that would have you killed? Repress who you are every waking moment? Keep a secret from everyone you know just to stay alive?_

Arthur sucked in a huge, unsteady breath and shut his eyes against the bright flames licking at the walls of the hearth. The back of his eyelids grew dark and cool and his breathing slowed, until Merlin’s face flashed in his mind again and his eyes snapped open and bile was welling up, burning the back of his mouth. Arthur choked and coughed and retched on the floor. He was shaking, violent tremors were rippling up and down his body and he couldn’t reconcile the clumsy, grinning boy he knew so well with the picture of magic his father had painted for him.

                  The blood he shared with Uther was howling for justice. These things were black-and-white, everyone knew that. What Merlin could do—there was no way around the hard fact that magic was evil. There was no grey area, no what-if, sorcerers had wanted the king dead for as long as he had been alive. Nearly every plot to kill either one of them had involved some sort of magic. That was no coincidence. There was a reason sorcerers were executed.

                  _Not executed. Murdered._

                  _What’s the difference_ , Arthur thought wildly, but he knew the answer. It grew in the back of his head like a sunrise, reminding him inexorably of all the times he had seen his father condemn people for much less than murder.

                  Like a cup, floating across the room into someone’s hand.

                  But Merlin wasn’t like that, Arthur reminded himself weakly. He’d had plenty of chances to kill him, and he had never done anything about a single one.

                  _There could be—_

 _Uther,_ Arthur thought suddenly, cutting off the other voice midsentence. The idea hit him like a brick. _He’s the one making war on magic. If Merlin is a sorcerer, why would he not try to kill him?_

 _Perhaps,_ the voice said softly, _Perhaps he doesn’t want to kill anyone at all. Maybe he cares more about other people’s lives than living his own in freedom._

“But—Merlin is _dumb_ ,” Arthur said disbelievingly. His voice hardly disturbed the empty room. “He trips all the time, he says stupid stuff, he has no idea how to talk to a girl…Sorcerers are supposed to be cunning, vicious, ruthless. He’s supposed to poison my food and put acid in my bathwater. He’s supposed to want to watch me die screaming.”

                  _And he doesn’t. So what does that mean?_

“Maybe…he hasn’t had magic that long. Maybe it hasn’t had time to corrupt him,” Arthur said, an inane ray of hope flaring inside him. “Maybe I can still save him.”

                  _Save him? From what, himself? You have no idea how long he’s had magic, no proof that he hasn’t had it all his life, and if that’s true, what then? You should already be dead._

“And I’m not.”

                  _No, you’re not,_ the voice said with satisfaction. _So again, what does that mean?_

But the idea, the utter wrongness of it was too great to contemplate.

Uther was the king of Camelot, one of the most powerful men that existed. He must have done something right to keep that power, and that key had always been keeping magic in check. Arthur had seen it since he was a child. The countless people that had died cursing his father, the raids he himself had lead in druids’ camps, all of it was to keep their subjects alive and safe. Their kingdom was somewhere every single one of them could depend on to protect them. From monsters and magic and everything else, Camelot was an impenetrable barrier to anything that threatened danger.

_Except for one little idiot who somehow managed to slip through a crack._

Arthur winced. Yes, somehow Merlin had slipped through and wriggled his way into Arthur’s everyday life. And what had he done with it? What master plan had he conceived and executed while he was mucking out stalls or mending clothes or polishing armour? What had he done while Arthur was insulting him or chucking goblets or throwing swords at him? Nothing. He had laughed and taken it.

And all the while, he could have blown Arthur to pieces.

He shuddered and curled up in himself as tight as he could get. He knew magic corrupted people. He knew it made them see things in a new light, want things they shouldn’t want, put lesser value on a human life and their own selfish desires ahead of it.

Maybe Merlin was the exception that proved the rule. Maybe magic affected him differently than it did everyone else and Arthur had nothing to worry about. Maybe all he had to do was not tell the king.

 _Not tell the king_ , the voice echoed.

Arthur swallowed. That was about as far from loyalty as you could get. That was treason.

 _It’s the same kind of loyalty Merlin showed me_ , he realized with an abrupt burst of anger. _Damn him to hell, leaving me to figure it out. When was he planning to tell me that he was risking his neck every day to mend my boots?_

                  _When did you want him to? He knew you’d have to tell the king._

                  _That’s right,_ Arthur thought. He would have known what Arthur would have to do. To tell anyone at all would mean it getting back to the king and from Merlin’s perspective, Arthur was the weakest link of them all, the quickest way to ensure his own death.

_He should have trusted me._

                  _You should trust him now._

Merlin’s face swam hazily to the front of Arthur’s mind, just a few days before he’d fallen ill. The light had been winking off his dark hair, which was messy and askew as always. His lips were curved upwards in a teasing smile and there was a flush across his cheekbones because of the heat. He had never been good with heat.

_Sorcerer._

                  Arthur flinched against the accusation. He knew exactly what he would have to watch if he let slip any hint about what Merlin was.

                  And for a moment, he saw it.

                  The flash of triumph in the king’s eyes, his harsh mouth moving as it condemned the boy kneeling in front of him. The boy’s dark head was bowed but his slight figure didn’t tremble, and when he looked up at the king, his gaze was full of bitter defiance instead of fear. He said nothing as he was dragged from the hall, gaze locked on Uther, but Arthur saw the tears slide down Gwen’s face and the painful flinch Gaius gave every time Merlin’s shoes scuffed against the floor.

                  Arthur saw the blank expression on his face as he walked through the courtyard, hands stiff at his side. He felt the heat of the fire blaze in his skin and the pain carved on Merlin’s face, the smell of burning flesh and the ear splitting shrieks when he couldn’t stop himself anymore, the worthless pleas for mercy. And then it would stop. All that would be left would be the roar of the fire and blackened bones where the person Arthur trusted most had once been.

                  Arthur lurched out of the daydream with a frightened gasp, sinking back against the wall with his arms limp at his sides.

 _Fuck magic_ , he thought violently, terror pulsing through his body. He could still smell burning hair and he was shuddering now, the image of Merlin’s tortured body was engraved into his brain. His heart beat a severe tattoo against his ribcage.

_I’m not turning him in._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a long chapter, and my apologies for the indents lol they're not cooperating. But if anyone has any feedback or has any ideas where this is going, please ask or comment! I'd love to hear or answer if anyone has a question!


	6. Plus Que Tu Ne Sais

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while! This chapter is a lot more about relationships than it is about actual plot continuation, just so everyone is forewarned if it's a little more boring or otherwise than the other ones lol. Let me know if you have any questions :) I'll do my best to answer quickly.

The night was a distinctly different kind of darkness, the kind that moves like a heavy cloak and muffles quiet cries. The choir of stars were distant, their light dim and cold, and someone had forgotten to hang the moon in the sky.

                  Sweet smelling rain filled the air and pattered against the cottage. Although no one could see it, a strong current of magic lay in the bolts and in the windows, forbidding entrance or exit. The rain sizzled when it hit the locks on the doors.

                  Inside, the fire had been reduced to embers. Gwen was lying in Merlin’s bed, deep in a dreamless sleep. Hestia—who had grown to quite like Gwen despite her earlier misgivings—dozed on the foot of her bed. In the other room, milky light washed the colour out of Arthur’s still form. His hand twitched as he dreamed and soft snores were beginning to come from the back of his throat when a strangled yell erupted from the front room, shattering the night like a firework.

                  Arthur jolted upwards and out of a dream, sputtering uselessly. His hand groped for a sword that was no longer by his side and he toppled out of bed, kicking aside his covers. Another bloodcurdling shriek pierced through the cottage as he, still half-asleep, threw open the door.

                  “Merlin!” Arthur shouted, panicking now, and stumbled through the cottage just to trip on the chair in the front room. He hit the ground hard and his hands slapped the floor but he was already scrambling up, his mind whirling too fast to register the pain. Someone whimpered just a few feet from him and Arthur lurched across the space. This time his hand hit warm, clammy skin; Merlin’s arm.

                  “Merlin,” Arthur breathed, heady relief sweeping across his body, gripping his arm harder. But he made no response, and as Arthur’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, the relief vanished.

                  Merlin’s eyes were squeezed shut and the tendons in his neck stood out like wires. Sweat pasted his hair to his forehead and as Arthur watched, stunned, he whimpered again and flinched at Arthur’s nails digging into his skin. He stood up and took Merlin roughly by the shoulders, shaking him. He took no notice of Gwen, who had just entered the room with a blanket drawn around her shoulders and her hand clapped to her mouth.

                  _“Merlin!”_ Arthur shouted, shaking him harder, fear was gripping his heart like a vice, why wasn’t he waking up?

                  Another moan escaped Merlin’s mouth, perspiration was beading his upper lip and sliding down his neck to pool in the dip in his collarbone and at last, his eyes opened.

                  They stayed frozen there for a lasting second, Arthur still clutching him like a lifeline and Merlin staring up at him, and then Arthur had released him and he was slumping back, fumbling for something to hang onto and catching the hem of Arthur’s shirt.

                  “It’s okay,” Merlin said, still breathing hard. His eyes slid shut again and his head hit the back of the couch. “It’s okay. Just a dream. Just a dream.”

                  “Fire,” Arthur said hoarsely, sinking to his knees beside Merlin. “Merlin, light.”

                  Merlin jerked his head forward, not bothering to say the words, and a fire sprang up in the hearth behind them. Arthur ignored Gwen’s low gasp and leaned forward, barely catching the sliver of golden light beneath Merlin’s half closed lids. He looked even worse with light flooding the room; his colour was feverishly high, his pulse fluttered like a bird’s beneath Arthur’s fingers and there was a sickly greyish tinge to his skin.

                  “You okay?” Arthur asked, hardly able to move his numb lips. Fear was still coursing through him like a lightning bolt and every time Merlin closed his eyes Arthur tugged on his arm, terrified that he was going to slip off again.

                  “Yeah.”

                  Arthur managed a weak chuckle. “Liar.” All he got in return was a twitch of Merlin’s mouth.

                  Arthur glanced up at Gwen, who was stricken, her hand still pressed against her mouth. He jerked his head towards her bedroom and she managed a nod, spinning around and vanishing into her room. Merlin raised his head at the sound of the door shutting behind her, wearing a vaguely accusatory expression. “Did you make her do that?”

Arthur shrugged. “I figured you wouldn’t want her to see you.”

                  “I’m _fine,_ ” Merlin said again, this time a little more colour in his words. “There was no need to make her leave.”

                  “She looked like she’d seen a ghost,” Arthur said dismissively. “You scared her.”

                  “Didn’t mean to,” Merlin mumbled.

                  “I know.”

                  The fire crackled and burned and then faded, and the room fell into abrupt darkness.

                  “Sorry. Can’t keep it up.”

                Arthur snorted, taking advantage of the dark to sit on the couch and place a careful hand on Merlin’s leg. “It’s fine. I just wanted to see if you were still alive.”

                  “Yeah, still here,” Merlin tried to say, but it came out more like a garbled sigh. Arthur, taking pity on him, slid an arm under his waist and pulled him upright. Merlin sank next to him, all shadowy lines and soft, damp skin.

                  “Better?” Arthur asked softly.

                  “Mmhm.”

                  “Do you want to tell me what it was?”

                  Merlin shuddered convulsively and his hands began to twist in his shirt. “You know already. I—I was back. Back there. Everything was exactly the same. I did the same thing all over again, exactly as I did it before, couldn’t stop it, couldn’t do anything. Just like before. All of it, right down to the smell. Like something was cooking.” Tremors were beginning to run up and down his spine and Arthur automatically put an arm around his thin shoulders.

                  “We’ve been over this,” Arthur said, as solidly as he could manage with Merlin shaking like a leaf beside him. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t help it. You knew that, Gaius knew, even I knew that. Right?”

                  “If I had just—”

                  “Shut up.”

                  Merlin made a kind of frustrated hiss. “I had control, or I almost did. A little longer, if I hadn’t been so…so…”

                  “Scared,” Arthur finished for him. “You were terrified, I could see it in your face. Stop beating yourself up over something you can’t do anything about. And it all turned out okay, didn’t it? You’re okay now. You don’t ever have to go back.”

                  “I know,” Merlin whispered. “But you do.”

                  Something cold stole into Arthur’s stomach. “No I don’t,” he said harshly, his fingers digging into Merlin’s shoulder a little harder than necessary. “I made my choice. You’re stuck with it, so stop bringing it up.”

                  Merlin exhaled softly; it might have been laughter. “You haven’t changed much, have you?”

                  “I’ve changed plenty,” Arthur grumbled, relaxing now. “I make my own food now. We have to take stupid hikes just to get to our dumb livestock, I have to milk a cow, I named a sheep, built a _house_ …you think I would have done any of that before we left?”

                  “That’s fair.”

Arthur began tracing slow circles on Merlin’s shoulder blade. He could feel every shallow breath through the knobs of his spine. Quiet fell again, softer than the dark but still consuming, until all Arthur could hear was his own rhythmic breathing and an alien heartbeat. Almost unconsciously he tried to keep time with it, but it was too fast, too light, too hollow.

“Don’t go back to bed,” Merlin said suddenly. His heartbeat stuttered against Arthur’s fingers. “Just—stay.”

“We could go back to my bed, you know,” Arthur murmured. “I’m pretty sure I could get you there in one piece.”

“Don’t want to move.”

“You sure?”

Merlin nodded against Arthur’s arm. “I’m sure. Just…tell me something.”

Arthur paused. “Tell you something? What?”

“Anything. I don’t care. I don’t like how quiet it is. Tell me that one story, about the stars. You know which one I’m talking about.”

“Again? I told you that one last time.”

“I know, but I like it.”

Arthur sighed. “Fine. But I’m only doing this because you look like you’ll throw up on my feet if I don’t.” Impulsively, almost against his will, his arm slid down from Merlin’s shoulder, trailing along his arm and resting at his waist. He could feel the small catch of breath in Merlin’s stomach, and Arthur swallowed.

“Okay. There are many legends about how the stars first came into being. This one starts with the moon. It says the moon would come out alone every night, the only bright point in a black sky. She grew thin and starved of love, looking on a planet that did not love her as well as they loved the sun. She shrank into a pitiful crescent, and one night one of her sharp edges caught in the sky. As she turned to look she ripped a hole in the universe, leaving it hanging open.”

Merlin made no sound but Arthur still stopped, entranced at the sound of his mother’s story coming from his own mouth. His words hung in the air until Merlin squeezed the hand lying on his waist and Arthur flinched, remembering that these were not his chambers and his father was not sitting by his bed with tears dripping down the end of his nose, repeating the story he knew by heart.

“Millions of stars poured out and spilled into the sky. They formed constellations and spread across the heavens, they laughed and sang and danced and loved the moon for what she’d done. Eventually she grew to love them back. She protected them with a warning at the beginning of every night and told them that when the night grew old, they must come back to her. The dawn was not safe for them.

“Most bowed their heads in respect, but some were proud. They believed they weren’t governed by the same laws she was. They would do what they thought was right. And one night they stayed in the sky while the moon, unknowing, slipped behind the grey horizon with the other stars. The rebellious few watched the dawn break, saw a bright glow, lights and colours they had never conceived, and they watched as a red sun rose. It was only seconds before they heard a terrible scream and looked to the East. Against the horizon they saw a star light up so brightly they were blinded, but even as the star blazed it crumbled to ashes and fell away.

“Every star that lived to see that dawn was extinguished by it. Ashes fell like snow to the ground, and that night the moon and the stars did not dance. They were still, and as they mourned their brothers and sisters, they began to sing. They sang songs of joy and heartbreak, happiness and death, love and loss. To this day on one night every thousand nights, the stars do not dance. The wind does not ruffle the leaves, and the owls do not fly. Instead the stars sing and mourn, and they and the moon wait for the day where they will rejoin their lost ones.”

The silence seemed too easily broken when he had finished, thin and sensitive. He knew Merlin wasn’t asleep from the way his hand was twitching in Arthur’s and odd little sighs kept escaping him, soft and exhausted.

“You okay?” Arthur murmured.

“Fine. Just…like your story.”

“You think you can sleep now?”

“Just like your story,” Merlin repeated, and then his hand relaxed, and the next time Arthur whispered his name, he didn’t answer.

 

* * *

Instead of sleeping, Arthur paced. He paced so much that he could actually see the path wearing in the rug on his floor. He paced every night for at least three days, and when he wasn’t pacing to worry about Merlin, he was doing it to worry about Gwen.

The day of her execution was coming far quicker than he would’ve liked, the hours slipped through his fingertips even as the minutes seemed to last as long as days. He could no longer see Merlin. Gaius had run out of excuses to take him down to the infirmary and seeing Gwen was a complete impossibility, so really, he had nothing else to do except worry.

So he paced.

Merlin’s face flashed in front of his eyes more times than he could count, and he winced every time. He could no longer see him as the harmless idiot that made the bathwater too hot, instead Arthur feverishly ran over every time Merlin had acted strange or said something off or flinched at the wrong time, and another weight would drop into the pit of his stomach. The word _sorcerer_ had become more than a vague threat to haunt the back of his dreams, instead it was razor sharp and so close he could see the shadow of it lurking behind his shoulder.

                  Everything he had been taught was warring against his instincts, that Merlin was good and rather stupid seemed much more fundamental and pressing than the idea of him sheathing a sword in Arthur’s ribcage. But his father’s expression when he would find out about Merlin—and he _would_ find out, if Arthur knew anything it was that his father had a nose for magic like a bloodhound—and the consequences for both himself and Merlin were incomprehensible.

                  But the same streak of steel in Arthur’s will that Uther had struck when he told him not to go after the flower that would save Merlin’s life was being struck now, sparking against what Arthur had taken for granted and as his father had found out so much earlier, there was no way to break it.

                  On the fourth morning, Arthur heard his bedroom door creak open from the ground. He had been pacing again, unable to sleep in his bed, and instead had fallen asleep with his face muffled in his rug.

                  Now he waved an irritated hand in the questionable direction of his door.

                  “Go _away_ , George. I’ve told you I don’t need anything this early in the morning twice already, I don’t know why I have to keep telling you.”

                  “George, huh,” said a startlingly familiar voice. “Is that the poor sap you’ve employed for after I died? Or have you just not bothered to check on me?”

                  Shock coursed through Arthur’s body like lightning and he scrambled up from the floor, staring in utter disbelief at his rather pale, sickly manservant swaying in the threshold. _“Merlin?”_

“You remember my name,” he said, managing a grin. “I’m honoured.”

                  “What are you doing out of bed? Did Gaius clear you? You don’t look like Gaius cleared you, you’ve got that guilty look on your face.”

                  “You dare doubt my honesty?” Merlin said mockingly, shutting the door behind him. “Of course I’m cleared, it was just a bug.”

                  _“Just a bug?”_ Arthur said, his voice reaching soaring heights, and was about to elaborate further when an abrupt wave of nausea swooped through his stomach and he snapped his mouth shut again.

                  There was a sorcerer standing in front of him. A glaring reminder of what his father had fought against for his entire reign, poison that had seeped through the cracks in the walls and lived in the very castle, worked for the very family that would have him killed.

                  And it was just Merlin.

                  He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t help looking for something that would tell him about Merlin’s magic, something that screamed _wizard_ or at least something a slightly off to show that Arthur hadn’t just concocted a fever dream and made the whole thing up, but there was nothing there. He looked the same as he always did. Wild hair, same crooked grin and stupid scarf tied around his neck, the same jacket that hung off of his frame how it always had.

                  “Uh…yeah,” Merlin said, staring at him. “A bug. You know, like a cold?”

                  “Yeah, I know,” Arthur said. “Just—wasn’t sure if you should be back yet, that’s all.”

                  “I’m fine. How are you doing?”

                  “With—with what,” Arthur said, trying to appear casual and failing enormously.

                  “Gwen,” Merlin said. “Are you okay? I thought you’d be throwing things at me by now.”

                  “No!” Arthur said loudly. “I mean—I’m worried, of course, I just…don’t know what I can do about it. We can find her a way out of it somehow.”

                  “…Right. Okay.” Merlin threw him a suspicious look and Arthur swallowed, fighting the urge to spill everything he had found out, partly because he wanted to see Merlin’s face, partly because he was terrified he would figure it out on his own. There was still something in him that screamed for revenge; to see Merlin stricken and fumbling for a reason why he had lied for years satisfied something boiling with anger inside of Arthur, something that belonged to Uther.

                  But this was his servant. He worked for Arthur and he had made his choice, quite clearly a long time ago. Whether or not Merlin had hidden this for their entire relationship, perhaps it didn’t mean that he was a wholly different person. Maybe it was just a part of him, not a piece to be taken away but something that resided inside of him. Maybe it helped make Merlin who he was.

                  And suddenly Arthur was seized with fear for this utterly normal, terrifying boy standing in front of him.

                  “You won’t—do anything reckless right?” he asked abruptly. “Like we can find something. You don’t need to do something stupid.”

                  “Last time I looked, you were the reckless one here. _I’m_ not the one who goes charging after a monster like a headless chicken, waving a sword like it’s gonna scare the thing off or something.”

                  _No, of course not. All you did was move into the most dangerous city in the world with a secret that could get you killed, march into the castle, and work as a servant for the son of the man that would burn you to death at the slightest provocation._

“Right,” Arthur said hoarsely, his mind working madly as he tried to dismiss the thoughts of magic that were too close not to show on his face. “Just—just clean my room. I’ve got to go train.”

                  “I thought you were confined to your quarters.”

                  _Fuck_.

                  “I meant go to the—the infirmary. Gaius wanted to talk to me,” he invented wildly. “I’m allowed down there.”

                  “Oh.” Merlin shrugged. “Okay.”

                  Arthur made to walk out the door, and just as his hand closed around the handle, he looked back.

                  Merlin was already picking his clothes up, humming absently under his breath. White sunlight poured out of the window, spilling onto floor and drowning him in it. It picked out the angles of his cheekbones and the movement of his mouth as he hummed, and it made his dark hair bright.

                  Arthur felt his heart stutter just for a moment. He dismissed it, turned around, and shut the door behind him.

 

                  “Arthur,” Gaius said when he found him standing awkwardly in the middle of his quarters. “What a pleasant surprise. Is something wrong?”

                  Arthur cleared his throat. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just wondering if you cleared Merlin to go back to work? He still seemed a little off to me.”

                 Gaius looked up, mild surprise in his face. “Yes, he’s fine. Tired of course, a sickness like that takes quite the strain on the body, but he’s recovered nicely. And he insisted on coming back, you know what he’s like.”

                  “What was wrong with him?” Arthur asked tentatively, wondering if Gaius would say the same thing Merlin did. Merlin was a terrible liar, he could see it in his face and how he avoided Arthur’s gaze, but surely Gaius would be better. If he knew Merlin’s secret.

                  “A bug he caught in the forest, probably collecting herbs or out with you. It’s a wonder he didn’t stay sick for longer, but he has a marvellous constitution.”

                  So he did know.

                  “Yeah, you could say that.”

                  “Sorry, sire, what was that?”

                  “Nothing. Listen, Gaius,” Arthur started, taking a few unsure steps closer. He knew without a doubt that this would get back to Merlin and put him on alert for the next couple days at the least, but he couldn’t help himself. “Have you ever noticed anything…odd about Merlin? Or off?”

                  “Off?” Gaius repeated; he was paying attention now. “How?”

                  “Just little things,” Arthur said casually. He didn’t want to start off too strong. “Nothing really. When he got sick he said some strange things, and his eyes—reflected off the light. They looked different.”

                  “You know him as well as I do, sire,” Gaius said. His face was clear and his gaze relaxed, Arthur had been right. Gaius was a far better liar than Merlin was, which was more than somewhat concerning. How on earth had he managed to survive so long on his own? “If there was anything wrong with him, I’m sure you’d know.” He smiled then, as though the conversation was over, and turned back to his work.

                  “Right,” Arthur said to his back. “I should go back up to my room. Don’t want my father calling the guard down on me.”

                  “I suppose you had better.”

                  So Arthur went aimlessly back up to his chambers, feeling just as upset and wrong-footed as he had before he’d left. Gaius knew about Merlin. Someone else who had kept it from him, who didn’t trust him enough to tell him that his own servant was possessed of magic. Someone else who believed he was less of his own person and more of his father’s.

                  Merlin was still upstairs when he got there. His room was far brighter and a fire had sprung up, his bed was made and his dresser was significantly less dusty. Merlin himself was sitting at the table, still singing, and stitching a shift that had ripped the day before.

                  “Merlin,” Arthur said gruffly.

                  He paused and blinked, and the shirt slipped through his fingers. “Something you wanted?” he asked, and when Arthur didn’t answer, he went on. “A goblet to throw at me, perhaps? Throw me in the stocks for getting si—”

                  “Would you quit it? Of course not, I just want to know how you’re feeling.”

                  He chuckled. “How I’m feeling? What does that mean, did you have a stroke while I was gone?”

                  “Please,” Arthur said, and something in his tone must have stressed the desperation he felt. The smile faded from Merlin’s face and he put the needle and thread down. “You know I’m fine. I just caught something harmless.”

                  “Harmless.”

                  “Still alive, aren’t I?”

                  “Which is a miracle as it is!” Arthur shouted, his sudden anger exploding into the relatively calm air like a crack of thunder. Merlin’s casual words ignited a fury and hurt in him that spilled into his stomach like acid. He slammed his hand down on the table and was both pleased and guilty at the expression of shock that flitted across his servant’s face. “You didn’t tell me how you were feeling or mention anything to the _physician_ you live with, no, you had to wait until you couldn’t get up from your bed. Do you have any idea what it was like when, on top of Gwen, Gaius came into my room and said you were taken so ill you were delirious, unmoving, and for all intents and purposes, dead? Of course not!”

                  “What, you want me to pity you?” Merlin shot back, rising to anger just as quickly. “You didn’t come to see me, I doubt you bothered to ask Gaius how I was doing. It didn’t matter then and it doesn’t now, so why the hell are you so bent up over it?”

                  “I—” That stopped Arthur short. He didn’t remember Arthur’s visit. He wasn’t just skirting around a subject he didn’t want to admit to, he genuinely thought his secret still remained with him. Which meant that whether he liked it or not, Merlin’s fate now rested entirely on Arthur’s shoulders. “You could have died,” he said, in a weak attempt to find the threads of the argument again. “You should have told me before.”

                  “Worried, were you?”

                  “Yes,” Arthur said, his voice cracking. Merlin caught his gaze, his mouth hanging slightly open. “More than you know.”

                  Merlin shut his mouth, and his eyes went abruptly cold. “Worry about Gwen. Not me.”

                  “I am worrying about Gwen, I just—”

                  “You just what? Thought me having a cold was more important than her impending death sentence?”

                  Arthur gritted his teeth and his hands curled into fists by his sides. The weakness was quickly disappearing. “Stop doing that.”

                  “What?”

                  “Downplaying. Like if Gaius hadn’t spent every night for the past few days tending to you, you’d still be alive right now.”

                  Merlin scoffed. “Please. I may not be brilliant with a sword or a mace or whatever else, but I think I can handle drinking fluids and staying in bed for a few days. You know I don’t care that you spend more time visiting Gwen than me, I know how you feel for her.” His voice caught oddly at the end of his little speech and he turned away, picking the needle back up again. Arthur watched as he fumbled with it and it pierced through his skin like a flash of silver, leaving behind beads of blood swelling on the tip of his finger. He didn’t seem to care.

                  “Hey.” Arthur’s voice was soft. The anger had gone as suddenly as it had come, something about the break in Merlin’s voice had drained it out of him. “Be careful.” He stepped forward to take the needle out of Merlin’s hand, and he didn’t resist. Arthur took his slim wrist and shuddered; his skin was warm, like blood boiled just beneath the surface, and a spark of electricity arced up Arthur’s arm.

                  _Magic?_ a voice asked, and was immediately stifled by some other unknown emotion roaring through his brain.

                  “Sorry,” Merlin breathed. His head was tilted towards Arthur’s, who couldn’t quite make himself step back. Merlin smelled—strange, like the red apples that grew in the courtyard and the sweet, sharp hay in the stables and the rain that had fallen earlier today.

                  “Stop apologizing.” He’d meant it to come out harder than it did, he’d set the needle on the table what felt like an age ago and Merlin’s hand was still in his. He licked his lips unconsciously, wanting more than anything to meet Merlin’s gaze and unable to look up from the scarred, flexible hand that was unnaturally still in his own.

                  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

                  “You’re my servant,” Arthur murmured. “What else am I supposed to do with you?” He heard a tiny intake of breath and his gaze flicked upwards to Merlin’s. There was something there in his eyes, tugging at the edges, elusive and wanting. Arthur’s mouth was suddenly dry as parchment and his fingers traced over the pale, spider-like veins in Merlin’s wrist.

                  “I’m not sure,” he whispered. “What else do you want to do with me?”

                  His eyes were locked on Merlin’s and something far stronger than his will was pulling at him to take one more tiny step or tip his head just the barest inch closer, he had never taken shallower breaths in his life or felt his pulse so well in his chest. Even knowing the power that resided in the hand he held didn’t deter him, he felt more than ever like there was something especially fragile about it, something to take care of, not to fear.

                  And then all at once the memory of burning eyes and an innocent cup floating across the room swam hazily up to the front of Arthur’s mind, and without thinking about it he dropped Merlin’s hand and stumbled back.

                  The tension in the air broke, rushing out of the room, and he could see the movement of Merlin’s throat as he swallowed. “I—I’m going to get more thread,” he said, and Arthur didn’t have to look at his face to know he was lying. He didn’t look up from the ground until he heard the click of the door.

                  _How sad,_ the voice in his head said sympathetically, _to need something you cannot have._


	7. Blue

Merlin was hot, feverishly so. The light was stabbing into his eyes and there was a horrible crick in his neck from sleeping upright, and his mouth tasted like old milk. Arthur was still slumped on the couch, head tipped back, hair glinting in the sun. His eyes were shut and his arm was still slung around Merlin, who flushed violently as he realized they’d stayed the entire night on the same couch.

_How had he fallen asleep like that?_

The nightmares, of course, he answered himself practically. Just like being back in that place, every sense heightened, it was burned in his brain the way nothing else had ever been. And Arthur knew that. He had seen that. He wouldn’t have gone back even if Merlin had asked him to, but Gwen was sleeping in the other room, what that must look like…

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, and tried to shuffle away. He sighed and his arm tightened around Merlin’s waist.

                  “Having trouble?”

                  He jerked his head around at the sound of another well-known voice and found Gwen standing outside of the room she had slept in with a small, sad smile playing around her mouth.

                  “Yes…I can’t get him to let go.”

                  “I’m not surprised. You should have seen him last night.”

                  Merlin shook his head like some vaguely irritating bug was hovering around his head. The last thing he wanted to hear about was Arthur’s concern about him. He looked back at her, eyes still fuzzy from sleep and realized Gwen was dressed, her hair pinned up, and she had her bag slung over her shoulder. Hestia prowled around her feet.

                  “Wha—you’re not leaving, are you?”

                  Gwen gave a slight shrug. “I only really came by to say hello and to tell you two about the wedding. I would ask you to come, but…it doesn’t look like you’ll be able to. Patrols for Arthur haven’t exactly decreased, as I’m sure you’ve figured out.”

                  “ _Haven’t_ decreased?” Merlin said, awake enough now to wriggle away from Arthur and sit up properly, victorious. “What do you mean, haven’t? They’re still looking for him?”

                  “You remember when Morgana went missing,” Gwen said, sitting down. “That was his bastard, and it took a year of long searching to find her. Now his trueborn heir has gone without even the grace of a kidnapping. He chose to leave. Uther isn’t thinking so much of how to get him to stay as how to get him back.”

                  “So what, he’ll never leave us alone? We’ll never be free?”

                  “I doubt it,” Gwen said wearily. “You least of all. The sorcerer who bewitched his son into leaving his throne behind, after Uther gave you to him as a servant? He blames himself for that, for your influence. You’d be lucky to burn at the stake at this point, I’d be shocked if he didn’t start with torture.”

                  Merlin gulped. “Torture?”

                  Gwen nodded. Her hands were fidgeting in her skirts and she was looking at the wall rather than at him. “I would’ve thought you of all people would have seen that coming. You know what he does to people like you.”

                  “He’d probably display my bones in Arthur’s chambers.”

                  “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

                  “We…can’t ever go back,” Merlin said. The words felt distant, surreal coming from his own mouth. “I won’t see Gaius—ever again. In my whole life.”

                  “I wouldn’t count on that. He’s quite as stubborn to make sure you’re still breathing as you are to keep hidden. Before I left, my updates weren’t nearly enough to keep him satisfied of your wellbeing, and I’m actually surprised he hasn’t found you yet. I can’t imagine how he’s felt with no idea how you are.”

                  Merlin felt a pang of guilt, instantly throttled by the reminder that were he to give himself away, even to Gaius, the smallest slip would mean a physician on the stake instead of a sorcerer.

                  “He can’t.”

                  Gwen tilted her head. Strands of gleaming hair fell across her face. “Why tell me and not him?”

                  “I think Arthur had counted on you coming with us,” Merlin said, and tried to smile. His face felt stiff. “He was worried you were going to be hunted if you stayed. There was no such fear with Gaius, Uther owes him too much.”

                  “I guess so,” Gwen said, eyebrows furrowing. “But I don’t think you’ll never be left alone the way you want.”

                  Merlin chewed on his lip. How long had it been since they had left? Longer than Morgana had been gone, that was certain. And more than that, the urgency that had come with Morgana’s situation could not possibly be exercised in this one. Arthur had left of his own volition, entirely in his own mind. Not even a spell could account for that no matter how strong. And he hadn’t been in any condition to cast one anyway, as Uther was more than well aware of.

                  But then again, the idea that Arthur had willingly left the only home he’d ever known might have worked against them instead of for them. The slights Uther must have endured, the laughter from other kingdoms, his own subjects…his own son, run away with a shining example of the people he had committed genocide upon. A perfect joke right through to the punch line.

                  “So,” Gwen said, interrupting his train of thought. Merlin blinked and looked up. “Do you…want to tell me what happened last night?” A tinge of nervousness had trickled into her kind voice but it did nothing for Merlin, who kept turning cold at the thought of the dreams that had crept into his subconscious the night before. He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet.

                  “Just a—a nightmare,” he tried to say, but his voice faltered and broke. The images were flooding his brain now, as vivid as an oil painting and he couldn’t stand the way Gwen was looking at him, those liquid brown eyes filled with overwhelming pity and sympathy.

                  “Okay,” she said now, clearly not wanting to press him further than he was willing to go. He tried for another smile, but somehow it got lost on the way up to his mouth and came out as a grimace instead. “Are you really planning to leave now?” he asked, mostly to change the subject but hoping against hope she’d stay for a little longer. The nightmares were humiliating, but she brought an atmosphere of peace and deep contentedness wherever she went, like a well of sweet water that never muddied. Even when she was upset it disturbed only the shallows, and the steadfast happiness that lay at the bottom never changed.

                  “You two seem okay without me.”

                  “Gwen, you don’t know how much he misses you,” Merlin said quietly. She recoiled just an inch, but he didn’t stop. “All the time. I’ll find him staring at something and ask him what he’s doing, and he’ll come out of it and smile and say nothing. And I can just tell—it’s you he’s thinking about. He never wanted to leave you behind. I think he still regrets that now.”

                  To his extreme surprise, she chuckled. The pity in her eyes had dissolved, replaced with warm affection and he blinked. “We’re both happy how it turned out. I don’t believe he thinks about me as much as you think he does. Those days when he daydreams and tells you it’s not about anything…I’d be willing to bet money it’s not about me.”

                  “What?” Merlin said, momentarily distracted from his point. “What do you mean he’s not thinking about you? What else could he be thinking about?”

                  “Gffmgh,” Arthur said, and twitched. Gwen was still smiling. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she suggested, and then laughed when Arthur opened a single bleary eye. “What?” he slurred. His gaze seemed to move very slowly, and when it latched onto Merlin, it stayed there. “Wasgoinon,” he said.

                  “Nothing,” Merlin said. “You were keeping me captive, I had to fight to get out.”

                  “Oh,” Arthur said, and took a moment to mull that over. When it finally seemed to get through his foggy brain, a corner of his mouth pulled up. “Sorry.”

                  Merlin bit back the urge to laugh. “It’s fine. It’s time to get up anyway, Fred will be waiting. Do you want to come see everyone?” he added brightly to Gwen. “Thanks to Arthur, we managed to collect a few more. Sheep in particular. He likes sheep. Right?” he said, and nudged Arthur in the side. “But they don’t like him too much. Ever since—”

                  “Shut up!” Arthur yelped, and bolted upright.

                  “Sure,” Gwen said, fighting the impulse to smile. “But I’m leaving soon after, I promised Lancelot I wouldn’t be gone long.”

                  “Sounds good,” Merlin said, and flashed a cheerful smile before getting up to find his jacket.

 

                  Despite his earlier qualms, Arthur was outrageously proud of his progress in the way of animals. He had named every last one of their three sheep, four chickens, the cow, and their second cat, which could not often be seen wandering around for its dislike of live company. But that hadn’t changed Arthur’s mind. The cat’s name was still Clyde, whether he lived with them or not, and what he saw as belittling jokes from Merlin hadn’t made the slightest difference. The sheep were in turn Amos, Silas, and Jerk. Jerk was the only one that had flatly refused to put up with Arthur on his back.

The chickens were now so accustomed to Arthur that they actually responded to their given names. Harriet, Una, Eggie, and Egg—there was a sharp decline in creativity when he had grown too hungry to care—had all shown incredible willingness to deal with an unreasonably excited, former prince that had never had a pet in his life.

Most of this was told proudly by Arthur, a grinning Merlin whispered the rest in Gwen’s ear, who had to fight back a laugh every time he did this. But even with the introduction and strenuous explanation of the character traits of each animal, the morning still passed quickly and soon the sun beat down from the centre of the sky, and it was with some trepidation that Arthur announced it was time to go back. A basket of brown eggs swung from his arm, Merlin had a small bucket sloshing with milk.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay for lunch?” Merlin coaxed as they trudged back through the well-worn path. Gwen shook her head, already expecting this question.

“I don’t think so. Lancelot’s already expecting me.”

“Well…if you say so,” Merlin said reluctantly.

They were silent for the rest of the trip back, he knew not to push Gwen further.

Arthur still let his eyes drift to her, her quick walk, her quicker smiles, the mannerisms he knew so well. Gwen had once been the centre of his world. She had been the reason he was careful on patrols, why he had been so eager to come home, and once home, it was Morgana who saw his inability to keep his eyes off of her. It hadn’t mattered what she was doing. She might have been pouring Morgana’s wine or straightening a bed sheet or standing in the market, picking out meat and vegetables for her father’s supper, he would still be staring.

There was something unfathomable in Gwen’s eyes as she hugged them each goodbye. Merlin had to hold Hestia in order to keep her from following Gwen, and even then their farewells were punctuated by mournful wails as she struggled to get free. Arthur was awkward at best, wishing her a good wedding, stumbling over his words and unable to look her in the eyes. Merlin was much more sincere, congratulating her again and earnestly hoping she and Lancelot could visit sometime after things had calmed down. He then drew a blue silk handkerchief out of his pocket, embroidered with her name in soft silver. She thanked him as Arthur’s eyes popped out of his skull, promising himself he would ask about _that_ later.

Her outline soon vanished into the forest and Merlin turned back to the house with a sigh, dropping Hestia without ceremony.

“I wish she would’ve stayed longer,” he said. “Just one night isn’t enough.”

“Speak for yourself,” Arthur muttered, and avoided Merlin’s eyes when they turned to him with surprise.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her there. Something about Gwen’s wedding to Lancelot was still nagging him in the smallest way, a few misplaced words lurking at the back of his head. He wasn’t sure what it was. He searched his feelings anxiously for jealousy and found none, searched them for many other things besides and found nothing to indicate anything that should mean he was still feeling waves of sickness lap at him.

The feeling faded somewhat as the afternoon wore on, after all, it was a good day. Buttery sunshine streamed down from the sky and Arthur fixed the window with some tactful, magical help from a certain sorcerer. Merlin went out in search for herbs he was low on and instead came back out of the forest with a bundle of brilliantly coloured flowers in his hands, humming happily as Arthur rolled his eyes. Some sat on the windowsill and others in Merlin’s bedroom, but most of them were gathered up and placed exactly in the middle of their little wooden table.

Since Arthur hadn’t been hunting dinner was an interesting affair, consisting mostly of mushrooms and greens stewed into a spicy concoction that, to his shock, was actually quite tasty. Merlin smirked at his expression, and Arthur had to hastily shut his mouth as he chewed.

“Good?”

“It’s fine,” Arthur said nonchalantly, but his eyes sparkled and he grinned, and Merlin laughed. “You think I don’t know what you like eat, after all the sour faces you gave me for the first couple years? I know exactly what you’ll eat and what you won’t.”

“Shut up.” Arthur aimed a blow at him and Merlin ducked, deftly tossing a slice of tomato and hitting the wall with a solid _slap_.

“Nice,” Arthur commented.

“’M not worried. Your turn to clean up anyway.”

Arthur scowled.

 

“Something wrong?” Merlin asked lazily, startling Arthur out of his thoughts some hours later. Merlin was practically sunken into the couch beside him, both covered in the thickest blanket they could find to keep the seeping fingers of the cold out of their clothes. Hestia lay on Merlin’s lap, and he traced alien designs on her fur with his eyes closed. The smallest possible smile was dancing around his lips, a smile that meant nothing but contentment, and he radiated a slow kind of happiness.

“Mm…nothing,” Arthur answered. “Just thinking about Gwen.” He tried to keep his voice unaffected, but of course Merlin could hear a wrong note in it anyway.

“What about her?” His hand paused on Hestia’s fur, who hissed at the absence of attention.

Arthur shrugged uncomfortably. “Her wedding, I suppose. Seems strange to think of her getting married.”

“That’s understandable. It must feel—sort of weird.”

“Not in _that_ way, I just mean—I don’t know. She didn’t grow up that far away from me. I passed her every single day, and she had the clumsiest curtseys of all the shopkeeper’s girls I passed. And she never looked me in the eye. She was Morgana’s maid so young, and the only reason she got the position was because Morgana spoke up for her so much, and so often.” He snorted. “Poor Father didn’t have much of a choice when it was brought up at every meal, not if he wanted to keep his eyes in his sockets. And now…I don’t know. Doesn’t seem real.”

“Not real?”

“Yeah, like she has this different life to lead, she’ll live in a village and work and live and I…won’t.” Arthur stuttered over the last few words as he realized what it was going to sound like.

He could see the movement of Merlin’s throat as he swallowed.

“You don’t have a future?”

“Not in the way that you’re thinking, not that I don’t have freedom or anything, I’m…it hit me that I’m never going to do that. To go out there, meet someone, and have a wedding in a little village.”

“I guess not,” Merlin said. He hadn’t moved but he was no longer relaxed, his body was taut as a bowstring.

“No—” Arthur broke off, frustrated. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t want that, that’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t want to live in a village or a castle or anything. I want to live here.”

“Here,” Merlin said sceptically. “With me.”

“I mean—yeah,” he said, inwardly beating himself up as soon as he’d said it. Words had never been his forte but this was getting ridiculous.

Merlin grinned.

“Shut up,” Arthur said.

“Mm…didn’t say anything,” Merlin said stretching drowsily across the couch. A shock of heat leapt in Arthur’s stomach as Merlin leaned back on him. “Just glad to hear it.”

“Yeah, well,” Arthur said, fingers brushing Merlin’s dark hair, heart in his throat, “don’t get used to it.”

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe,” Merlin said, staring at his shrunken reflection in the mirror, “one day I’m actually going to look like this.”

His face was ancient, carved with deep wrinkles. His spine seemed to be curved in a permanent _C_ and his skin had wasted away, clinging to the bones. Age spots and broken veins covered his hands, his eyes were sunken and hollow, and his joints creaked if he so much as twitched.

Gaius looked on, positively bleeding disapproval. “I shouldn’t have let you do this again.”

Merlin smiled crookedly at him. “Calm down, Gaius.” Even his voice shook and trembled when he spoke. “It’s holding, and I don’t need it to for long. I’ll get in, get caught, and get out.”

Gaius tapped his foot, frowning. “If you say so, Merlin. Just— _be careful._ ”

“I always am,” he said, and hobbled out the door.

 

                  He could hear the low hum of voices even before the doors were thrown open and he was dragged through them. The fingers on his arms were tight and unyielding as rock, and he knew they were going to leave bruises.

                  _If I live long enough to have bruises._

                  Merlin’s heartbeat was thudding in his stomach instead of his chest, and he thought he could feel it working its way down to his legs and feet. He got a brief glimpse of himself in a mirror as he was hauled past and he shuddered.

                  _This was not the plan._

“Father,” Arthur said brusquely, striding in ahead. Uther looked up from the military map lying on the table, the rest of his councillors glancing up with him. Curious, no doubt. There was no one that loved gossip more than a military councillor, gods knew why. “Arthur.”

                  Merlin was towed along behind him, just in time to see shock flicker in Gaius’s eyes and then vanish, replaced by careful neutrality. _Thank the gods for Gaius_ , he thought fervently. Maybe he’d have some unforeseen, brilliant way to get Merlin out of this.

                  “Who…is this?” Uther said, glancing from Merlin and back to Arthur with trivial interest. Merlin’s breaths were getting shakier and the cold from the chains were biting into his wrists now. He had to resist the urge to mutter a spell under his breath to release, or at least loosen the steel. That would do no good, Gwen might still be punished if he got away now.

                  “ _He_ is the sorcerer,” Arthur said, badly checking the glee in his voice. He was working hard not to show how happy this made him, that Gwen could be let free. Even now he knew Uther would exercise no restraint if there were the slightest possibility Gwen could still be executed. He held out the worthless poultice Merlin had not quite hidden under his sheets. “I found him placing this under my pillow.”

                  Uther took it and examined it, and when his eyes turned back to Merlin, the interest glinting in them now was cruel and hostile.

                  “Is this true?”

                  “Yes,” Merlin answered steadily, shocked when his voice didn’t shake. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Uther. Here he was, standing in front of the man that druids told horror stories to their children about, admitting to magic, with only a flimsy disguise to hide his identity.

                  “What did you hope to achieve with this…enchantment?” His words held just a glimmer of mockery in them, something Merlin couldn’t miss. It made it all the harder to condemn magic to another evil use, to further strengthen Uther’s conviction, but it had to be done. This was not Gwen’s fault, and weakening now would not help her case.

                  “If…Arthur were to fall in love with a lowly serving girl, it would bring—shame on Camelot,” he said dully. The words had come from nowhere, complete fiction, and yet Uther and his son swallowed it easily. Every cell in his body was screaming at him how fundamentally wrong this was, how much danger he was in, begging him to turn back. He ignored it and spared a glance for Arthur and wished he hadn’t, Arthur looked all too willing to have him confess. It took a moment to remember he was not seeing Merlin, he was seeing a bitter, scheming old man filled with hate for Camelot’s royal family. Someone who had conceivably destroyed a future with the woman he loved.

                  Not just reinforcing Uther’s commitment to the genocide of magic then, but perhaps nursing Arthur’s as well. Lovely, he’d gotten two for one.

                  Uther stared at him and put the poultice down, bringing him back to the present. “Have I wronged you in some way, old man?” The mockery was more than a glimmer now, there was humour licking at the edge of his voice, and something cold stole through Merlin’s blood at the sound.

                  “You have wronged so many people…in so many ways,” he said softly. The ice was freezing his bones now. “You’re blinded by your hatred of magic.” His voice was rising. “You have tortured and executed innocent people. You, Uther Pendragon,” he was shouting now, “are a stupid, arrogant old tyrant!”

                 “You will hold your tongue,” Arthur said sharply, trying to catch him by the arm, and all the ice in Merlin turned to water as he faced him. “And _you_ ,” he said, trying to inject as much venom into his words as he could and failing, “I have heard how you…”

_How he what??_

Merlin wracked his brains for the longest second in his life, why on earth could he not find something horrible to say about Arthur? “Mistreat your servants!” he said triumphantly, seizing on it with relief. Of course! “They do everything for you, but do they ever get any thanks? No! You’re a spoiled arrogant brat with the brains of a donkey and the face—”

                  A cough cut him off and he choked. “And the face—” he tried to finish, and choked again. Arthur was staring at him, his eyebrows raised.

                  “Yes…” he prompted. “By all means, finish.”

                  “I—”

                  Something was wrong. Instead of breathing harder, he was breathing easier, taking in great lungfuls of air. His voice was not just an ancient wheeze anymore, it was stronger, and when he looked down the veins in his hands were softening, his fingers could flex again. His gaze was no longer fuzzy, sharpening to a devastating degree and his spine was straightening, his beard fading…

                  Terror cracked like lightning through his body as he realized what was happening.

                  “No,” he said, half-strangled, and collapsed to his knees. The spell was ripping through him, draining from his body as he tried to cling to it. “No!”

                  His eyes would be burning yellow, he knew it, there was no way to hide this—he was coming back, his skin was smooth and soft again, his hair was just inky gloss, there was nothing left to hide anymore—

                  “Please,” he said hoarsely, as the last of the spell tore itself away from him, shrieking, and faded into the air.

                  The deafening silence lasted for a single second before it exploded into an uproar of yells and orders and disbelief bouncing around the room, but Merlin’s strength had been exhausted. His shaking arms could no longer hold him up, and he rolled onto his back as his head banged painfully against the stone floor. Rough hands were already grabbing him and hauling him upright, digging into his flesh as he fought to keep his eyes open. Every limb was trembling as though he’d just run a race. Cold sweat was sliding down the back of his neck and it felt like his lungs had sucked closed, and the last thing he saw was Arthur’s bone-white face, jaw hanging open in horror and hands curled into hard fists at his sides.

His eyes had never been so excruciatingly blue.


	8. Forgiven, Perhaps

When she came, Arthur knew her.

He knew her by the way she walked, the ramrod posture hidden by a thick cloak. He knew her by the white hands that stayed poised at her side without a glimpse of the tension she must have felt. He knew the velvet hood draped over her head, the beginnings of a brutal smile playing around full, delicate lips, the proud chin tilted upwards.

“Morgana,” Merlin breathed, a reminder Arthur didn’t need. He was crouched behind the window beside him, expression flat and narrow as slate. His hands were flexing at his sides and his mouth had condensed into a hard, rigid line.

“Calm down,” Arthur said, reaching a placating hand out to him. “We don’t know what she wants.”

“Like hell we don’t,” Merlin snarled. He knocked Arthur’s hand away. “She tried to kill Uther and then you, I’m not letting her fucking try again—”

“Merlin!” Arthur said, jaw hanging open. “She comes to our door and you’re—”

“I’ll kill her before she gets to the door, I can promise you that much.”

“ _Merlin_!”

“What?”

Arthur was gaping openmouthed at him; he’d never seen Merlin act like this. Angry, yes, but this was something else entirely. There was something frighteningly cold in the way he looked back at Arthur. He could practically see the magic crackling under his skin.

“You wouldn’t really kill someone without being sure there’s a threat.”

“There is a threat. She’s shown that before and she will again if I give her the chance to do it.”

“Merli—” Arthur started again but it was already too late, he was standing up and throwing the door wide open. Cool, crisp air flowed in and he stepped through the threshold. Arthur scrambled to follow, cursing fluently under his breath.

“Morgana,” Merlin said coldly. He had halted in the house’s shadow. She was a few feet too far for normal conversation, but Arthur knew she could hear him.

“Merlin,” she answered, sly amusement just shadowing her tone. It did nothing to help the sorcerer’s mood.

“Take one more step,” he said, enunciating slowly. His slim hand was held out in front of him, perfectly steady, and Arthur felt his very bones shudder at the warning. “I will take apart every cell of your body and burn them all one by one without so much as moving.”

Arthur sucked in a breath and the humour was gone from Morgana’s voice when she spoke again.

“I came only to talk.”

“ _Only_ to talk?” Merlin mocked. “Like you only happened to stumble upon Arthur and Gwen in that clearing, like you didn’t walk along those hallways late at night with a knife out, ready to murder the king?”

“The king that held me and my magic captive!” Morgana snapped, her resolve fracturing for a moment, but she took a deep breath and it was back. “You of all people should be able to understand, Merlin,” she said. There was honey in her voice again. “You know how he acted, the crimes he committed—”

“Yes yes, I know all about that,” Merlin interrupted. “I would remind you that I was not lying in a featherbed every night, waited on for my every whim—in fact, I saved his son’s life and mended his boots every day, and it still would have gotten me killed had he known how. You want to talk, Morgana, try for a little grace first.”

“A little grace?” Her resolve was wavering again. “ _Grace_?”

“Morgana, why are you here?” Arthur asked, cutting in. “What did you come to talk about?”

The fire faded from her striking eyes and she blinked. “As a matter of fact, I came to talk about Uther.”

“I think we’ve accomplished that,” Merlin said, and made to turn back inside. Arthur gripped his arm. “No, wait.”

“Wait?” Merlin repeated with blistering heat. “Do you want to invite her in for some tea? Tell you what, I’ll start dinner and you check her cloak for hemlock and mandrake, sound like a plan?”

“You’re angry with me,” Morgana said. “Because I tried to kill Uther?”

Merlin wheeled back around. “Because you tried to kill Arthur. The man I’ve spent my life trying to protect from people like you, who twist magic to their own uses no matter what the consequences are.”

Morgana took a step forward almost involuntarily and the cloak swept restlessly about her feet. “Please wait,” she said, and her voice was stripped of both venom and honey. “Please.” And before Merlin or Arthur could say anything, she pulled her cloak up to bare her arm, pale and glowing in the early moonlight.

A stark black druid symbol was scrawled just above her elbow.

“I just want to talk,” she said again, but now her voice was fragile. “Please, let me in.”

 

In the end, they did make tea. Her movements were smooth and sinuous, her hands did not shake the way Merlin’s did when he was close to cracking under pressure, but her voice broke and she couldn’t look at anything besides the cup of tea sitting in front of her. Something about her countenance was reminiscent of when they were kids growing up together, something she was trying to hide, and Arthur itched to gather her up into a hug and tell her everything would be fine, she just had to tell him what was wrong.

Merlin’s tone was still hard and clipped when he spoke to her, but he was softer now and his mouth was not so thin. Arthur knew it was his own innate nature coming out in him, the need to ultimately be compassionate instead of cruel, to help another creature in pain even if she had caused it herself.

“I left soon after you two did,” she said now, interrupting Arthur’s train of thought.

“Guess we started a trend,” he muttered. They both ignored him.

“Gaius had…spoken to me. He knew I had magic and counselled me on it, told me that killing Uther was a mistake, that it wouldn’t achieve anything except for someone else to rise up, take the throne, and continue the same vendetta. I’m not sure how he did it, but I left. It didn’t hurt to leave home, somehow. It hurt to leave the chance I knew I had of killing our father.” She was looking at Arthur as she spoke as though looking for signs of weakness, but his gaze didn’t so much as flicker at the mention of killing the king.

“I’m not sure where I was going. I got lost, as you can imagine, between hiding from Camelot patrols and looking for places where I wouldn’t be known to anyone, I can’t tell you how difficult it was.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Merlin said. “The descriptions of your hardship are beyond my understanding.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, and he sat back at the admonishment. His eyes were glittering.

“Anyway,” Morgana said, bristling at the interruption, “it took a long time to find anywhere. I had to use a spell every day to change my appearance, I had never realized how many places I had been before I was banned by my own discretion to go to any of them. Mostly I just slept in the forest, small caves and grooves underneath trees were plenty. It stopped hurting so much, and I was getting used to it when she found me.” She broke off, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

“She?” Arthur asked, catching on to the colour in her cheeks. “Who’s ‘she’?”

“Her name is Héloise.”

“Sun,” Merlin murmured.

“Yes. And it suited her. When I first met her she reminded me of a stalk of wheat in the summer, long and lithe and golden. Even her eyes were a strange shade of pale yellow.

“She found me perhaps seven or eight months after I left Camelot, I’d stopped keeping track around four. I resisted her at first, she looked odd and far, far too happy to not be hiding something horrible, but she had magic as well. She said she was a druid. I believed her. Her magic was like air, light and warm, and she stayed with me for nearly a week while I got used to the idea. When she finally said she had to go back, I followed her to the camp where she lived. Magic was—everywhere, I couldn’t believe it. People used it for laundry, to mend clothes, to cook. There was a tent for children where they learned how to use it properly. And they were kind to me. Not one of the druids showed an aversion to me because of Uther, because of where I grew up. They accepted me, and I stayed with them. Héloise showed me everything I needed to know, spoke with me about Uther and what growing up in Camelot was like, how hard it must have been to live there and conceal who I was…I’m not sure what they did. But I don’t feel like I used to.”

“Which was how?” Merlin crossed his arms. His bright stare was still locked on Morgana, ruthless and calculating, a horribly foreign look on him.

“Hey,” Arthur muttered. He laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine. Let’s give her a chance.”

Merlin shook his head disbelievingly and then caught the Arthur’s look and stilled. Arthur wasn’t sure what he saw, but whatever it was, he melted just the slightest bit. The expression in his eyes became a little more familiar, but his tone was still short when he spoke. “Alright. But when she throws you across the clearing and snaps your spine against a tree, that’s your fault.”

He swallowed. “Yeah, sounds fair.”

Morgana watched this exchange silent but bewildered. It wasn’t until Arthur’s hand slipped from Merlin’s shoulder and trailed down his arm that her exquisite face lit up with understanding and a small smile, the most childlike Arthur had seen from her in years, tugged at her lips.

Merlin gave a brusque nod of his head and Morgana’s eyes barely caught it, too busy shining with some gleeful epiphany Arthur couldn’t quite make sense of. “Of course,” she said, hastily returning to the subject at hand.

“Living with the druids was a kind of escape, they were careful. They had to be. But even that couldn’t stop news of Uther’s doings as the months went by. A man like him, who does everything he can to destroy their way of life…they kept a close eye on him. But he never got any closer. They knew when patrols were coming through, how to avoid them, everything. You could just tell by watching them how used they were to—”

“Morgana, either say what you came here to say, or get out,” Merlin said harshly. “I’m getting tired of this.”

Her lips compressed tightly, but all she said was, “Fine.” She leaned forward, her black silk hair swinging forward to frame her face in pale contrast. “Three days ago, a messenger came from Camelot. A spy. Someone who gives us news every few weeks as we need it.” Now she looked at Arthur, and instead of anger, there was pity in her gaze. He felt a thrill of fear, and all at once, wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what she had to say.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. Uther’s dying. And he’s asking for you.”

 

* * *

 

“You admit to the deceiving of my son, of the physician that housed you, and of all of Camelot?”

There wasn’t a breath of air in the entire room. No one so much as twitched a muscle, not even Merlin. Arthur knew how hard the floor must have been beneath his knees, but he didn’t so much as twitch as the stone dug into the bone beneath sensitive skin.

“Yes.”

How had he never noticed how rhythmic his breath was, the pink of his lips, how long the lashes were that brushed the hollow beneath his eyes?

“You admit to enchanting both my son and the serving girl for no reason other than your own gain?”

“Yes.”

Even his voice, steady and quiet and musical, there were so few words left to him, how could he kneel there and lie?

“And your reasoning for such a crime?”

“You just said,” Merlin said, and even with his head bowed submissively Arthur caught a flash of icy blue eyes. “My own gain. There’s your reason.”

The creases around Uther’s mouth tightened. “You will answer the questions put to you and nothing else, or I will have your tongue ripped out of your mouth.”

Merlin gave no recognition of the command, except perhaps his fingers pressed harder against the floor. Arthur wondered dully if his legs were numb yet, if he would be able to walk to the dungeon or would have to be dragged.

“Magic,” Uther whispered now to himself, his expression now almost crudely eager, “inside the very heart of Camelot, serving my son every day. What damage has this young sorcerer done, I wonder?”

Merlin kept his eyes to the floor, but Arthur could see the quivering of his limbs now.

_He must know what’s coming. How easy his death will be._

Arthur’s thoughts were thudding against the wall he had put up in his mind. The frantic fear had passed, thoroughly draining his body of energy, and all that was left was a thick haze drifting through his head, a sort of bitter protection against what he knew must happen. And after that…who knew? He could see nothing past the stake, and the monotonous, useless thoughts were blurring through his brain now, leaving nothing behind.

_Fire, Merlin, sorcerer, he’s going to die. He’s going to die if I don’t do something._

But Arthur kept silent, standing by the man who was condemning his servant to death, and watched him with empty eyes. He couldn’t have met Merlin’s even if he wanted to.

“Merlin,” Uther said. He was pacing back and forth now, whatever ruminations he had were over, his face was alight with an insane vindication. “I find you guilty of treason in the highest order.”

He didn’t flinch. Arthur did.

“As the king, the responsibility is foisted upon me to uphold the goodness in this land. And so, for the use of enchantments, by the laws of Came—”

“By the laws of Camelot?” Merlin cut in, in a voice Arthur had never heard from him before. “The _laws_ of Camelot?”

The room was no longer silent. The people pressed against the walls were whispering now, frightened voices and harsh gasps broke the silence, _did he interrupt the king?_

“By the laws of Camelot,” Uther repeated, his voice shaking with fury now, “I sentence you to death. You will be purified of your sorcery by means of fire.”

And suddenly, his voice was drowned out by something else, something that made goose bumps appear on Arthur’s skin, made him want to turn and flee the room; Merlin was laughing.

There was no mirth in it, no kindness, it was empty of everything except anger and bitter, harsh contempt and when he stopped, it rang around the room like the clang of a bell. Arthur was shivering now, hardly daring to breathe, tremors were running up and down his back and even the king said nothing, staring at the boy who dared to flout his authority. His hand was slack on his sword.

“You think you can sentence me to death?” Merlin said, his voice impossibly low after the shrieks of laughter. Uther was dumbstruck, watching as the sorcerer’s eyes drew up to meet his own, and Arthur was frozen, he could do nothing but watch—

“I do not only have magic, Uther.” He rose up to his feet, looking at him full in the face. His eyes were sparking with a vicious, dark fury and only then did it strike Arthur then that he was just as tall, if not taller than his father. There was a rich weight in his tone Arthur had never imagined, something that spoke of power, of ancient traditions, of the Old Religion.

“I am the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. I am a relic of the Old Religion, the last Dragonlord, I am the one who set free the dragon that lived in your dungeons. I alone have saved your only son’s life more times than I can count, I murdered Nimueh, I could kill you and every citizen in Camelot where I stand.”

He took a step forward, and chains jangled and scraped horribly around his ankles. “I am no druid,” he breathed. His gaze did not drop from Uther’s, who seemed to freeze in the moment, staring into the face of everything he hated in the world. “I do not live for peace. I live to create a world without people like you in it.”

When Merlin’s eyes turned abruptly to Arthur, his knees turned to water.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but he didn’t look sorry, he looked exhausted and set, determined and burning with something that could almost be recognized as exultance.

“Merlin,” Arthur managed, his voice was nothing more than an echo.

“My name is not Merlin,” he said. There was ancient sadness, too old for someone so young, in his voice. “My name is Emrys.”

“No!” Gaius suddenly cried, but it was too late, Arthur caught a flash of silver, a tiny gasp and a broken scream from someone else in the room, and he looked down.

Uther’s sword had already sunk into Merlin’s side. It was glimmering in the light, beautiful, as drops of blood stained the edge.

Merlin’s eyes were wide, comically shocked as he blinked and looked down at himself. Blood was already spreading across his worn shirt, running down his hip into his trousers, staining them too. He pressed a hand there, against the blade and it came away dripping red, a stark reminder that sorcerers were just as human as Arthur himself was.

All he could see was his servant, the boy that had only entered his service because he’d saved Arthur’s life, who dressed in nearly the same clothes every day and woke him up with the same words every morning, gave constant quips and always had something in his hair, whether it be leaves or mud or something else, who had the same brown boots all the time and said ridiculous things about protecting him and had an uncanny knack for building the fire.

His servant, who was standing in front of him with his father’s sword embedded in his flesh.

All that fog in his mind suddenly ebbed away, leaving it sharp and crystal clear, and something broke.

“No!” Arthur roared, and stepping forward ripped the sword out of Merlin. His mouth opened in a perfect ‘o’ as it clattered to the ground behind them, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he was slumping onto the ground.

Arthur caught him, sinking to the floor. Merlin’s breath was coming in odd little hitches and his mouth was open, struggling to inhale. His hand clutched at Arthur’s arm and stained it with blood. Arthur had the ridiculous, insane urge to tell him he’d just created more laundry for him to do, what was wrong with him?

He barely had a moment before Gaius was knocking him out of the way, calling to the crowd for carriers in a cold, clear voice and inspecting the wound the king had left.

“Never mind,” Arthur said frantically. “I’ll take him, I’ll take him back, just go and get everything ready, don’t—don’t wait for me.”

“He is to be executed anyway,” Uther said, waving a hand. “Leave him.”

Such fury had never shrieked through Arthur’s body before, and he turned around to face his father. “You have nearly killed him!” he shouted, and for a split second, something other than boredom and victory flitted across Uther’s face. “ _You_ , who claim to be a good and just king, have almost killed the man that saved my life!”

“Arthur,” Uther started, but he was already heaving Merlin over his shoulder. “Arthur! You will not—”

“Fine!” Arthur bellowed, turning around. “Fine, execute him, but he will be well first, he will walk down to that stake himself! He will not die at the hand of a king’s rage instead of his justice!”

He didn’t stop to see his father’s response; he was already walking out the door with Merlin over his shoulder.

The way to Gaius’s quarters was empty, an odd contrast to the room full of silent people they had just been in. Merlin was moaning, little anguished gasps escaping him as Arthur jostled him. He was desperate to run; the sound of blood pattering on the floor, marking their progress was almost too much for him to handle, but he knew the steadiness of his walk was more important when it came to keeping Merlin alive. Getting there half a moment quicker would not matter if he was already dead when he set him down.

“It’s okay, we’re almost there,” Arthur murmured, but Merlin made no sign that he heard him other than grasping the back of his jacket harder, nearly splitting the seams he had just mended. “It’s okay, I promise, you’ll be okay. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Every word he uttered was devoid of sympathy, of certainty. He couldn’t make himself say anything that mattered, that he forgave him, that he already knew about the magic, that Arthur would get him out of this no matter what it cost.

The heady relief he felt when he got to Gaius’s quarters was dizzying as it swept over him. The door opened before he got to it and he very nearly dropped Merlin before reaching the examination table. He set him carefully down—he was heavier than his look suggested—and stepped back, breathing heavily, allowing Gaius to rush forward and take stock of him. He muttered things to himself that Arthur strained to hear, and would occasionally call out orders before remembering the boy who had followed them was the one lying on the table.

“Well?” Arthur said when he felt he couldn’t stand it any longer, “how is he? Will he live?”

“Yes…yes, he’ll live,” Gaius said distractedly, and Arthur breathed again, pressing his hand to the table to hold himself up. “If I can clean the wound properly—Arthur, hold him down.”

“I—what?”

“Hold him down!” Gaius repeated sharply, and Arthur did as he was told, pinning Merlin to the table.

“But—” he never got to finish his question, because at that moment Gaius poured some foul-smelling, sludgy liquid around the wound and Merlin screamed, twisting away from the potion and sobbing into Arthur’s chest. He immediately gave up on pinning him and instead just held him, hugging him tighter to himself and trying to resist from taking that vial out of Gaius’s hands and throwing it across the room.

“Gaius!” Arthur said loudly when he didn’t stop, Merlin was flinching at every agonizing touch of it on his skin. He looked up, surprised, and put the vial down when he saw Arthur’s white face.

“Give me the thread, the needle, the alcohol there, and that bandage,” he instructed, and Arthur only had a second to hesitate before Merlin moaned, “oh, for fuck’s sake,” and everything Gaius needed floated over to him.

“Useful,” he commented, and Arthur could hardly believe his ears; how could Gaius make a joke at a time like this? “Can you just—take care of him?” he said, half hysterical, incapable of noticing anything more than Merlin’s hands on his arms and the way his shoulders curved into him, the dampness of his hair and the pinched, painful expression on his face. Gaius spared him a single look of shallow concern and returned to the wound gaping in Merlin’s skin.

Arthur had seen everything when it came to injuries. Working patrols, leading and training knights, he’d had and seen every wound imaginable. But something about that ragged tear of skin ripping diagonally across Merlin’s stomach, the dark blood seeping out of it and pooling on the examination table made him want to turn away and be sick.

_Your father did this._

Arthur shook his head involuntarily.

_Don’t want to think about that._

_Your father took out his sword, stuck Merlin like a pig, and you watched him do it._

_No. I—I didn’t—_

“Arthur, if you want to leave, you can,” Gaius said without looking up. “I’ll call you when he’s better.”

“I can’t,” Arthur said automatically, though he wasn’t sure why, wasn’t he just debating being sick over what he was seeing? So why was he staying when Gaius had effectively just given him a pass to leave?

“If you think you can stay, keep him company,” Gaius said, beginning to thread the needle through pale skin, and Merlin shuddered. “Talk to him.”

“Uh—right,” Arthur said, casting wildly around for any topic, any topic at all—“Er, Leon rode a pig the other night?” he offered lamely. “Or he tried to, at least.”

Merlin tried to say something, his face was twisted with what Arthur assumed was pain, but all he could manage was a strangled gurgle.

“Too much wine at the king’s table, I think,” he continued automatically. “I wasn’t drunk—or not much—and I went outside to go to the tavern, and Leon was there. Trying to get on a pig, and I don’t know, I guess he missed? And three other knights were there, the new ones, of course, which means I’m the one who’s going to have to tell them that this isn’t the sort of thing you do if you’re a knight, which I don’t particularly fancy, and I can’t believe Leon of all—”

“Ar—Arthur,” Merlin choked out, interrupting his senseless babbling. “Please—pl—go.”

“But I—”

“Arthur,” Merlin said gutturally, and there was that note of command again, weak though it was. “Go.” He slid his hand out of Arthur’s and turned his head away, and Arthur paused for only a moment before mechanically turning around and leaving. He shut the door and stared straight ahead, willing himself to keep walking down a corridor that felt longer than it ever had.

There was some odd feeling behind the shock and the fear, and if Arthur had been paying attention, he might have realized it felt a little too much like loss to be anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Merlin is getting injured a lot, true, but to be fair I think it's okay to make up for Arthur's dramatic knocking out every time he faces a bandit. Merlin gets knocked out and Arthur's just like 'yeah that checks out', so I'm vicariously rewriting Arthur's view lol.   
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!


	9. Epiphany

“We have to go,” Merlin murmured. Arthur shifted uncomfortably next to him, twisting the blankets so they slid off of Merlin. He gave a soft sound of complaint. “Quit that. I’m not as fat as you, I need them more.”

“Shut up,” Arthur said, more out of habit than anything else. “Go sleep on the couch if you don’t like it.”

“Your fat is comfortable and warm, I’m fine where I am.”

Arthur elbowed him and Merlin snorted, disturbing the relaxed quiet.

                  “I can help him, you know,” he said, and the air around them grew heavy.

                  “I know,” Arthur said. “I know you could help him, that you’re probably the only one who can bring him back but Merlin…I’m not going back there. And neither are you.”

                  “Right, so you’re telling me that Morgana has come from the druids, travelled all this way, and is now sleeping in my bed to deliver a message that we’re just going to ignore?”

                  “You’re defending her now?” Arthur said, his voice growing louder. “Two hours ago you were ready to kill her if she so much as looked at me. Why would you even want to go back, or save his life? What’s he done that’s earned your forgiveness?”

                  “Nothing,” Merlin said softly. “He’s done nothing to deserve any kind of compassion.”

                  Arthur quieted at that.

                  “He’s killed hundreds, thousands of my kind. Tried to kill me. Tried to stop you from saving me, drove Morgana away, locked Kilgharrah at the bottom of the castle for twenty years, and done so many other things that I can’t begin to describe.”

                  “And…you want to save his life.”

                  “No.”

                  Arthur threw his hands up and let them flop back down to his side. “Then why do you want to go back?”

                  “Can’t you see?” Merlin said. He was facing Arthur now, there was an irresistible smile on his lips and electric energy seemed to be emanating from him like the magic he possessed. “This is our last hope. If I save his life using magic—”

                  “He’ll kill you anyway,” Arthur said tartly. “I know him. You could save Camelot from famine and he’d still kill you.”

                  “I know, I tried that,” Merlin mumbled. “Goddamn unicorn.”

                  “Wait, what?” Arthur said, momentarily diverted, but Merlin forged on.

                  “Look, Uther may be cruel, unforgiving and all the rest of it, but he _is_ human. He must have some speck of compassion left in him, and if it doesn’t rise to occasion when…when I…”

                  “You mean when you spent the last few years of your life saving mine,” Arthur said, sobering quickly. “You think he values his own life more than mine?”

                  “No! No, I just think he—he might have not thought you had, you know…might’ve thought you were a little…”

                  “A little _what_ , Merlin? Spit it out.”

                  “Swayed,” he blurted out.

                  “Swayed?” Arthur said, his eyebrows knitting into a frown, and then lifted in surprise when he saw Merlin blushing as fiercely red as the tomatoes in their garden. “What the hell does that mean?”

                  “You know, it just means he thought your opinions were biased.”

                  “Biased? Biased how?”

                  “For the love of all the gods, Arthur, he thought we were fucking,” Merlin snapped, and the blush on his cheeks quickly made sense.

                  “Oh,” Arthur said weakly, still working through it in his head. “Swayed.”

“Yeah.”

A painful, prickly silence fell between them. Arthur was far too warm and Merlin’s skin was too close, there was still a blush fading on his angular face and he was playing absently with the sheets, his hair was a dark, wild mess and Arthur couldn’t help but think of what it would look like if he reached over and—

“You know what,” Merlin said suddenly, throwing the covers aside, “you’re right, there’s not enough room here. I’m going to sleep on the couch.”

Arthur withdrew the hand that had been unconsciously inching across the cold space between them, feeling humiliated and peevish and stupidly rejected. “Fine,” he retorted, hoping he wasn’t red himself, and watched as Merlin padded off into the darkness without a pause.

The door shut behind him and Arthur turned over, punching his pillow into shape and pulling the blankets around him tight like a cocoon. Damn Merlin for bringing something up like that. Of course that was going to make things weird, it would happen with anyone. And then for him to get in a huff and leave was ridiculous, clearly it should’ve been Arthur to leave. Merlin had no right.

Slowly the sting of humiliation faded and Arthur lay awake, blinking in the darkness, unable to sleep. There was a small, hollow crevice in the centre of his chest that kept expecting to nudge against another warm body when he flung his leg out, hear a soft hum when Merlin forgot there was someone else lying next to him, listen to whisperings of half translated spells as he dreamt. He tossed and turned but it did nothing, he still stayed to one side of the bed, automatically assuming someone was on the other side, and subconsciously waited for Merlin to come back.

 _I’m not just expecting it_ , Arthur realized dazedly. _I want it._

The realization ran through him like cold water in blood, a shock that tingled right down to his fingertips. He wanted that. He wanted Merlin to sleep next to him to turn over with a groan in the mornings and watch the gold flare in his eyes when he shut the drapes without moving, to stretch out and feel soft skin that wanted him as badly as he needed Merlin’s, to touch him carelessly, to trace the patterns of his hand until he knew it as well as his own.

He wanted…Merlin.

Arthur could feel the heat flooding his face and knew he was flushing right down to his neck, the way he always did when he was embarrassed. He groaned and buried his head in his pillow. He couldn’t possibly be attracted to Merlin. That skinny, knobby, blue-eyed, dark-haired…pink-lipped…

Damn it all.

What was he _thinking_? Merlin had been his servant, he’d dressed him every day, seen Arthur naked more times than he could count and he’d never had this problem before. Merlin certainly didn’t have it, he’d never so much as flinched at Arthur in the bath—

The answer came quick and clear and unwanted. _He doesn’t feel the same way._

                 Arthur winced. _Wonderful. I’m pining—_ he shuddered inwardly at the word— _after the man who used to be my manservant, and he doesn’t even feel the same way._

                  Maybe he wasn’t pining. Maybe this was a spur of the moment thing; after all, it’d been a long time since he’d—well, had anyone. It would make sense that he would want to the only person left to get, it was a simple equation. He was bored, and Merlin was the closest option. It’s not that Arthur wanted him in particular, he just wanted someone. Anyone. Yes, that made sense.

                  But even as he came to that conclusion, that small nook in the middle of his chest shuddered. It told him something starkly different, that this wasn’t spur of the moment, that he wasn’t bored. That he had always wanted Merlin.

                  Arthur stubbornly shoved the thought out of his mind and tried to will himself to go to sleep. It didn’t work; he lay awake for long hours that ticked murkily away before finally falling into a restless sleep, his mind crowded with tangled, pretty dreams of the sorcerer that lay only a room away.

                 

                  Young sunlight filtered through the curtains. Random thoughts began to float serenely through Arthur’s brain, who groaned and rubbed his eyes as he recognized the beginnings of another day. He began to turn over, flinging his leg out to the side, and immediately hit something hard and warm.

                  “What the—” Arthur bolted upright, eyes snapping open, grabbing madly for the sword that was currently collecting dust in the closet. A muffled curse came from beside him, and then Merlin was lifting his head up, blinking sleepily at Arthur.

                  A thrill of brilliant proportions shot through him like an arrow from a crossbow, and tension instead of relief swept him.

                  “What are you doing here,” he said curtly, trying not to look at him.

                  “You were right,” Merlin said, stretching. “Too cold out there. I came back in early, but you were already asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.”

                  “Next time don’t come back in,” Arthur said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stalking across the room. He didn’t look around to see Merlin’s unfazed, mildly amused expression, and slammed the door shut.

                  Once alone, the tension went out of him like air from a balloon and he sank onto the couch Merlin had spent part of the night on. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his face hard, hoping somehow these thoughts he didn’t want might vanish if he just worked hard enough at it. The morning hadn’t brought any change, and finding Merlin lying next to him was an unpleasant— _Pleasant_ , a voice in his head corrected, and he narrowed his eyes—surprise. He had a thousand questions, most of them involving some sort of filthy curse _(what the fuck is wrong with me?)_ , mingling with self-pity _(why me, gods, why me? I’ve done nothing to deserve this!),_ and the rest of him was dwelling happily on the possibilities if he just gave into it, which he’d done every other time he felt like this and was now making it extraordinarily hard not to.

                  “Arthur?” Morgana said, and Arthur jumped about a foot. She laughed, a wonderfully liquid sound, and he stared at her, shock forgotten. He hadn’t her laugh like that since…he couldn’t remember when.

                  “What on earth were you thinking about?” Morgana asked, sitting next to him.

                  “Nothing. How was your sleep?”

                  She shrugged. “It was fine. I’m surprised Merlin can sleep on that thing, it’s quite small, isn’t it?”

                  “That’s what he said he wanted.”

                  “Probably reminds him of home.”

                  “I don’t think so,” Arthur murmured. “He slept on the ground while he grew up. I think the bed reminds him of Camelot if anything. He misses Gaius.”

                  Morgana was looking at him with something that looked terribly like pity, and he glanced hastily away. “And what do you miss?” she asked. There was a sad sort of inflection in her voice.

                  “I’m not sure. Maybe breakfast in bed.”

                  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Really, Arthur. What do you miss?”

                  “The thing is…I don’t miss anything,” he said, struggling to speak properly. He wasn’t sure what was rising in his throat but he didn’t like it. “At first I missed everything terribly, it felt wrong and awkward and the fact that Merlin knew how to do everything and I didn’t was humiliating. He was taking care of me, and he taught me how to keep a house or livestock and cooking…all that stuff. Probably how to make my bed too, but I don’t remember that bit.”

                  “You’re lucky to have him.”

                  “I know,” Arthur said without thinking about the connotations, and when he looked sharply at Morgana, she was grinning.

                  “So, how long has _that_ been going on?”

                  “Oh—shut up, Morgana,” Arthur said crossly, getting up and moving towards the kitchen. “There’s nothing going on, if that’s what you mean.”

                  “Of coursed that’s what I mean! Please, Arthur, you’re red as a beet. It’s adorable.”

                  “You—” he made to move towards her she was too quick; she ducked under his arm and leaned against the windowsill. “C’mon, just admit it. You are so smitten with that boy.”

                  “I’m not!” he made another swipe for her and missed.

                  “Er—what’s going on?” came another voice, and Arthur froze, mortified.

                  “Nothing,” he said, as soon as he could collect himself. “Morgana’s just being irritating, that’s all.” He threw himself on the couch and scowled fiercely at her while Merlin walked into the room, still rubbing his eyes.

                  “Right,” he said. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t burn the house down,” he said, addressing Morgana. “Surprised, but glad.”

                  “Funny, Merlin,” she said waspishly, her childlike demeanour gone as soon as it had come. “It’s not like I couldn’t if I didn’t want to.”

                  “Speaking of not wanting something, just so I know before we get other visitors, how did you find us?”

                  “The druids,” Morgana said, scowling as darkly as Arthur now. “I asked where Emrys was.”

                  “Of course,” Merlin muttered. “Damn druids, anyone who knows my name is instantly an ally to them.”

                  “I am an ally!”

                  The argument continued, but it faded in Arthur’s ears until he was watching a soundless conversation. A white buzzing filled his ears instead as he watched Merlin, cheeks flushed, eyes shining, and wondered what it could possibly be that made it so hard to stop thinking about him.

 

* * *

 

                  All he had to do was follow the trail of blood he’d left behind. He thought that’s what he hated the most. He slipped once on it, landing on his stomach and cracking his head against the floor. The pain barely registered, but the taste in his mouth of someone else’s blood did.

                  He wasn’t sure where he was going until he pushed open the door. The throne room was empty now except for his father, who paced around the throne like a man possessed. For the first time, Arthur wondered if he was.

                  “Father,” he said dully, and Uther stopped in his tracks. He turned towards Arthur and opened his mouth, but before he could, the door behind Arthur opened again and Gwen came rushing forth, dropping a hurried curtsey to the king and turning to Arthur.

“Morgana has asked for you in her chambers, sire,” she said, and her eyes were wide, conveying some sort of message, but he ignored it.

“Father,” he said again, and took another breath, but before he could get out what he meant to say, Gwen interrupted him again.

“Morgana says it’s urgent, Ar—sire, she says she needs you right away.”

Arthur stopped and considered that for a moment. His head felt fuzzy and distant, like he was missing some essential part of his makeup, but eventually he said, “okay,” and allowed himself to be led away by a relieved Gwen like a small child. After all, what was the difference? He could beg for Merlin’s life now or in five minutes, the king would still have the same answer. Arthur could threaten to fall upon his own sword and Uther would still—

Arthur stopped. His mind was grinding back into gear again and he realized what he’d just stumbled upon.

“Just…down, Arthur,” Gwen was saying, and he became vaguely aware of the fact he was back in his own chambers. How he’d gotten there he’d never know, but now she was trying to sit him down in a chair by the table.

“Where’s Morgana,” he asked stupidly.

“I lied. She doesn’t need to see you.”

“Then…why…”

“Listen, Arthur, we can get him out. We can, but if you go to your father and ask him to spare Merlin’s life, which he won’t anyway, that’ll just give him a hint of what you want to do. He’ll do the same thing he did when you asked for mine and lock you up in here until Merlin burns in the square, and there will be nothing you can do.”

“Did—did you…did you—”

“I didn’t know about the magic, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said gently. “But I know you don’t care. I know you don’t.”

“No.” His head was aching. “No, I don’t care.”

“Then we can get him out. But you can’t give yourself away, not a single word, you can’t visit Merlin or talk to Gaius about him or say anything for him, you have to act like you’re in favour of his execution.”

“I can’t,” he said hoarsely. “Gwen, I can’t watch him—”

“Arthur,” she said steadily. She leaned down and put her hands on his shoulders. “He’s not going to die. I promise you, he’s not going to die. We will get him out before he ends up tied at that stake, okay? But you have to trust me. You have to be quiet. You have to act like everything’s perfectly fine. This was a surprise to you and you feel horrible for not spotting it sooner, but that’s all. You don’t care about Merlin.”

“I—I—”

“Yes or no, can you do it?”

Arthur took in a great shuddering breath. “Y-yes.”

“Okay.” She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead and then stood up and brushed her hands off on her skirts. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay here.”

He didn’t know how long he sat there for. He watched panels of sunlight inch across the wall until they grew dark and golden. Someone came in to summon him to dinner but he didn’t turn his head, Gwen had said to stay. So he stayed. He cited his headache as an excuse and it must have seemed acceptable to his father, because no servant returned, though how he got his numb lips to form coherent words was beyond him.

No one else came. The rays of sun faded and white starlight replaced it. He couldn’t take his eyes off the window, the window where he had watched them build Gwen’s stake, the one that stood there now, the one that might be Merlin’s as early as the day after tomorrow.

The night had grown old by the time Gwen returned. She crept into the room and closed the door softly behind her. Then she was brushing her hands through his hair and saying something in a worried voice, something that made him want to turn away from her painfully kind eyes, her work-roughened hands that were still soft underneath the calluses.

There was a small, sensible part of him that was terrified by the rest. He had never felt this way before, never watched the hours pass without pacing like he did when it was Gwen’s life on the line. He always itched to do something when any sort of injustice became known to him, so where was that desire now when he needed it most, when Merlin needed it?

She was drawing him to his bed now, taking off his boots and laying his long brown jacket aside. He lay down automatically, mechanically, and allowed her to tuck him into his covers. She whispered something else then, something he didn’t hear, it might have been somewhere along the lines of trusting her.

She left soon after putting him to bed, throwing worried glances back at him as she walked to the door and closed it behind her.

Perhaps he slept. He didn’t know. The same images bled through his brain, haemorrhaging his into his mind’s eye, playing over and over and over again until all they were only streaks of familiar colours. His father’s red robes, Merlin’s black hair, the sparkle off of a deadly sword. He had never planned for this nightmare to come true.

When the morning at last arrived, it wasn’t a servant at all who came into his chambers. It was Morgana.

He was still in the same position Gwen had left him in hours before, staring up at the ceiling. Her face was unnaturally pale even for her and her eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen them, rimmed suspiciously with red, but he couldn’t make himself comment. He knew why she’d been crying, hadn’t he been reliving the same horror this entire time? Hadn’t he been ceaselessly picking through his memories until they were no longer fresh, looking for any way he could have protected him, any way to save him for what he had done?

Morgana approached him cautiously, like he was a young deer that might flee at the sight of her.

“He’s okay,” she said once she was close enough to talk. The words, simple enough, penetrated the thick barrier in Arthur’s mind and he turned his head, slowly, to look at her. It took ages for words to bubble up from his throat to his tongue to his lips.

“He’s…what?” He felt like a carving of stone learning to speak again.

Morgana smiled in relief. “Merlin. He’s okay. Gaius says he’ll be fine, it’ll just take time to—to heal.” She stuttered over the words, knowing even as she spoke that the time he had was limited. He would never get that chance to heal completely.

Arthur exhaled. “He’ll live,” he said, surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“For now.” Morgana came closer and sat on the edge of his bed, and her expression was burning with some carefully concealed emotion, something he didn’t have the energy to identify. She leaned closer.

“Did you know?” she whispered, and Arthur mulled over the question for what felt like an eon.

“Yes,” he said, again surprised by the conclusion he had drawn, that he could trust Morgana with this. She had always been outspoken about Uther’s blatant disregard for the lives of sorcerers, why, he didn’t know, but it implied her to be an ally.

Ally. What a strange word to use in connection with magic.

“For how long?”

“Only a few days,” he said, and she withdrew.

“And you were planning to turn him in at the right time,” she said coldly.

“No,” Arthur said, sitting up now. There was a sharp, aching twinge in his neck. “No, I don’t think so. I couldn’t turn him in, it’s—it’s Merlin.” He shrugged, feeling helpless for an explanation that would make sense.

“He’s a servant.”

“He’s _my_ servant,” Arthur said shortly. “It’s my job to…to…”

“To take care of him?” Morgana asked, finishing his sentence with a laugh. “It’s his job to take care of you.”

“And apparently he’s been doing that far better that I ever expected of him!” Arthur shouted, throwing aside his covers and standing up, propelled by his anger. The last of the barrier shattered. “He’s been saving my life behind my back! For years!”

“You should be grateful,” Morgana said, and Arthur threw up his hands. “You think I’m not? I’m not my father, Morgana. I won’t execute a man for a weapon that can be used for good or ill. It’s like killing a man for using a sword to keep away bandits, just for having a sword in the first place.”

“Really?” Morgana said. She was still struggling with something, her face had lit up in an indescribable way. “That’s how you feel?”

“Of course! He—for every second he’s spent in Camelot is probably another second of life I shouldn’t have gotten. Who knows how many times he saved me?”

“And you don’t feel betrayed, you don’t wish he might have told you sooner?”

“Yeah, I wish he’d told me sooner. I could’ve…I don’t know, helped him.”

“I don’t think he needs help,” Morgana muttered. “From what I hear, aging magic is an extraordinarily difficult piece of work, and to keep it up at all was incredible.”

Arthur threw a sharp glance at her. “Right.”

“I know Gwen’s helping you break him out.”

He sighed. “Yeah, she is. She doesn’t care about the magic either.”

“I think y0u’ll find most people won’t. Not with him, anyway,” she added bitterly. “But I can help. Let me help get him out. They took him to the dungeons this morning—”

“They _what_? He’s injured! By the king’s sword!”

“Which is why he doesn’t get any leeway with this. Merlin’s still a convicted sorcerer, no matter what. But I’m sure his magic helped with the wound. He seems…powerful. Enough to help his healing along, anyway. He could walk his own down to the dungeons, which was a good thing, by the look of him you might’ve thought he’d kill anyone who dared to touch him.”

Arthur turned suspicious eyes on her. “How do you know so much about what kind of magic Merlin can do?”

“I learned a lot, watching the sorcerers that Uther executed,” she said, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “But that’s not why I’m here. Do you want to tell me how you’re planning to break him out, or am I going to have to guess?”

“Okay,” Arthur said. “Here’s the plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes ok FINE this chapter was mostly Arthur pining and talking to Morgana about it, I couldn't help myself, but there's definitely enough action to make up for it in the next chapter. I hope it's still fun to read!


	10. Douse the Flames

_Gwen was whispering fervent words under breath that he could hear even from across the room. It flowed from her lips like a prayer, harsh in the silence of a hundred people holding their breath._

_Arthur was staring back at him with wild blue eyes, unnaturally still._

_“My name is not Merlin. My name is Emrys,” he said, and watched Arthur’s eyes grow wider. His heart was thudding brokenly in his chest. He knew. He had nothing to lose now except his life, and what was that worth if he couldn’t protect Arthur?_

_Then there was a familiar shout, but he didn’t see, not until an ice-cold blade was plunged into his side and pain crackled through him like fire. Blood was rapidly spreading across his front, dripping down the sword—_

“No!”

The hoarse cry had left his lips before Merlin sat bolt upright in bed, panting. His fingers were digging into the bedframe and Arthur was staring at him, terrified. His hand was gripping Merlin’s wrist. “Are—are you—”

“I’m fine,” Merlin rasped. “I’m fine, I’m okay.” He fell back into bed and Arthur shifted closer to him.

“What was it?”

“No, I can’t, I want—just—just hold me,” he said impulsively, half expecting Arthur to scoff and turn away, but instead, to Merlin’s lasting shock, he swallowed and put his arm around Merlin’s shoulders. He blinked and then curled in closer towards him, until he was nothing but a ball of shaking limbs in Arthur’s arms, head tucked underneath his chin like a child. The air around them shivered with something vivid and unfamiliar, something akin to comfort, but dangerous at the same time. Merlin could hear Arthur’s heartbeat, smell the sweet water he’d bathed in just before bed. He breathed in his heat and relaxed almost subconsciously. Arthur’s fingers were tracing soothing circles on his back, and Merlin was beginning to drift off when Arthur stopped, sucking in a breath. Merlin was about to lift his head, if just to ask why, when he felt Arthur’s hand trailing down the line of his spine, pausing at the small of his back and curving over his sharp hipbone.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, but all he got in return were fingers pressing harder against his hip, splaying across his stomach, and he stifled an abrupt exhale. Then calloused hands were tracing up, up along his sternum and then across his chest, the soft skin in the hollow of his throat, and then swiftly back down and beneath the hem of his shirt so his hand pressed against the hot, silky skin of Merlin’s stomach. His breath caught in his throat and he pushed automatically against Arthur, whose vague movement paused in surprise, and for the first time, met his eyes.

“What,” Merlin breathed, tilting his head up towards Arthur’s face. “You didn’t think that I wanted this?”

“Wanted what?” Arthur’s voice was hoarse.

Merlin leaned in closer, slinging a leg over Arthur’s hip. “You know what.” There was something brilliantly bright running through his veins and into the tips of his fingers; the fear had gone and there was nothing left but want and adrenaline and confidence that was perilously close to arrogance. After all, he hadn’t started this.

He was just tipping his head up, closer than he ever had before when Morgana burst into the room like a storm, breathing hard, covered in sweat. She didn’t seem to notice the compromising position they were in, which was fine by Merlin, he was to tired to try to move away from him. Her gaze was locked on Arthur, who had frozen, horrified.

“Arthur,” she said. “We have to leave. _Now_.”

“What?” Merlin said, bewildered by the abrupt turn of events and feeling the heat that had been curling in his chest evaporate. “Leave here? Why? It’s perfectly safe.”

“I’m a Seer, Merlin, and I’m telling you that _we leave now!_ ” Morgana said, her voice rising to a shriek. Arthur was up in a flash, putting gentle hands on her shoulders and sitting her down on the edge of the bed. Merlin curled away from her. Her face was a work of architecture in fear, and he felt a chill go down his spine at the sight of it.

“What’s going on?” Arthur said. His eyebrows were knotted into a concerned frown.

Morgana swallowed. “I—I saw things. I dreamt it. People were in the woods and we were all sleeping. There were only a few of them, maybe four or five, but it was enough. I watched them link hands and start this—this chant. It was horrible, full of things I never wanted to know, but it was magic. Dark, dark magic, the kind that sacrifices children and twists minds. They were covered in symbols, like druid symbols but wrong, off, and their eyes were bronze when they did magic. It was horrible to watch. And when they were finished, I watched the house—they did things, and there was nothing left by the time they were finished. I was trying to crawl away but they were dragging me back, Arthur, you were unconscious with a blow to the head and Merlin—Merlin was—”

“Merlin was what?” Arthur said, his voice going up an octave as his fingers clutched her arms. “What, Morgana?”

“Dead,” she finished in a whisper, and there was a beat of silence in Merlin’s mind before Arthur was up and dragging Merlin out of bed.

“I—what—you’re taking her word for it?” Merlin protested, as he was pulled bodily from the comfort of Arthur’s bed.

“Yes,” he said brusquely. “I’m not taking a chance.”

“I can at least walk,” Merlin said irritably, ripping his arm from Arthur’s grasp. Something flickered across his face that Merlin didn’t quite catch, and then he was ordering Merlin to pack. All the softness in his voice had gone, the Arthur who had held him in his arms only a few moments ago had vanished.

“You sound like you’re ordering the knights around again,” Merlin muttered, trudging from his room to grab a knapsack and whatever essentials he deemed necessary. Arthur scowled after him but shuffled Morgana out of the room.

“Don’t let him out of your sight,” Merlin heard Arthur whisper, and he threw up his hands in exasperation. “Have you forgotten that I’m a sorcerer?” he shouted, whipping a jar of something sludgy and rather purple into the sack. “Leave me be!”

“Shut up!”

                  Merlin mumbled darkly under his breath for the half hour that Arthur flew around the house, gathering food and looking frantically for Hestia, who seemed to be missing. The night outside the cottage was still quiet, still devoid of stars, and had anyone bothered to actually glance outside they would have seen a pair of gleaming eyes that looked in from the woods, and then vanished. The swish of a dark cloak followed it.

                  Underneath the thoughts of how unreliably trusting Arthur was, there were other, darker things. This was too close to what life as a sorcerer was like, what he had dragged Arthur into from the beginning. And now they were here, fleeing the home they had built in the middle of the night because of a former enemy’s vision. More than anything he wanted to take Arthur and hide him somewhere where he would be safe, but Arthur would never consent to being treated like a child the same way Merlin never would. They had no choice now, thanks to Morgana.

                  “Here she is!” Arthur finally shouted, his voice saturated with relief, and Morgana shushed him.

                  “Still don’t know why we have to leave,” Merlin said, pulling a knapsack onto his shoulders and exhaling beneath the weight. “This is a lot of work based on trusting someone that—”

                  “That what, Merlin?” Morgana asked, her voice dangerously sweet.

                  “That once upon a time would have done anything to kill Arthur,” he shot back. “You know why I don’t trust you.”

                  “Arthur is still—”

                  “Still what? Your brother, your blood? Those excuses mean less than nothing to you and you know that better than anyone. Uther is blood, and you would have killed him and left his body for someone else to find, and then taken his throne if you could have.”

                  Morgana laughed, an oddly high-pitched sound. “Yes! Yes, I would have, but that was years ago. You are more narrow minded than I thought for a sorcerer if you still believe that to be true, and I’ve just about—”

                  _“Enough!”_ Arthur roared, so loudly they both stopped and turned to stare at him. “I’ve had enough! Merlin, we’re leaving whether you like it or not. Morgana, if you’re lying and this is a trick, I will run you through before Merlin has a chance to rip your head off your body, understand? So _shut up!”_

“Fine,” Morgana snapped. “But it’s not a trick, and you’ll find that out soon enough when your precious house is in ruins.”

                  Merlin opened his mouth, about to say something crass when Morgana’s expression changed so drastically he halted before even taking a breath. Panic began to rise inside him, swelling like the tide, lapping at his stomach, his throat and then at his tongue. Something was happening, something he could see in the reflection of her eyes. Magic was beginning to spark under his skin when she spoke.

                  “It’s too late." 

 

* * *

 

The night was deadly dark in Camelot. Even the stars had drowned in the utter blackness that was the sky and no moon could be seen; no sliver of light except for tiny torches glimmering from Arthur’s window. His wobbly shadow passed back and forth as though he were pacing.

                  Upstairs, Arthur was indeed pacing and muttering foul things about being on time to himself, letting a stream of filth flow that even Uther would have paled at. He was dressed in clothes he would never be caught dead in at any other time, from the black boots that covered his feet to the shirt that was practically falling apart at the seams and the ragged cloak, he looked like Merlin. Well, a much better looking Merlin.

When his door finally creaked open, his head snapped towards it and watched Morgana slip through the crack she had made, grinning like a mad person.

                  “What took you so long?” Arthur hissed, striding forward and shutting the door behind her. “I’ve been waiting forever!”

                  “It takes a long time to get enough rope to haul you down! If you weren’t so big I wouldn’t need such a thick rope!”

                  “I,” Arthur said dangerously, “am not fat.”

                  Morgana smirked. “Merlin told me that’d put you on edge.”

                  Arthur leaned forward and grabbed her wrist without thinking about it. “Merlin? You spoke to him? Is he okay?”

                  “No,” she said softly. She hadn’t fought against the hold he had on her. “No, he told me that last week. I’m sorry.”

                  Arthur exhaled and stepped back. “It’s fine. That’s why we’re here. Did Gwen—”

                  “She did, hidden in the bread. She couldn’t come to my chambers afterwards, but she definitely did, I saw her hide it. He knows I’m coming.”

                  “Wait—you? Why not me?”

                  “She didn’t want you in the note in case it was found. I agreed.”

                  Arthur rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Morgana, I’d be doing this with or without you. No need to pretend to be noble.”

                  “I’m not,” she said hotly. “I’m doing this for Merlin, because he’d be risking his neck if it was any of us and you know it. If it were you in there, he’d just kill the guards and walk away with you, daring someone to do something about it. And no one would, especially not now.”

                  “He wouldn’t kill anyone,” Arthur said, caught off guard. “Certainly not for me.”

                  Morgana rolled her eyes. “One day you’re going to figure out just what he’s done for you and your head’s going to explode.”

                  “And how would you know what he’s done?”

                  “Easy. I talked to Gaius.”

 

                  The rope was coarse on his palms as he gripped it and night air gave him chills that raised the hairs on the back of his neck as he slid slowly, torturously down the side of the castle. All he could hear was his own harsh breathing; even the night chorus of living things was quiet. Morgana was silent from the window as he fell further and further away from it. When Arthur’s feet finally hit the ground he gave the rope a sharp tug and watched it draw quickly back up the castle and slither into his bedroom window, not without a sharp pang of regret, and a fiery desperation that overcame it. He wasn’t going back now.

                  Morgana’s head appeared for a moment and her long hair swung out into the air. She gave him a quick wave and then shut the window. She would be going downstairs now, carrying a pitcher of drink that would no doubt put the guards to sleep for any length of time, thanks to Gaius. Arthur was on his own.

                  His steps were too loud as he made his way across the courtyard even in the soft shoes he had worn and he cursed them under his breath, looking furtively from side to side for anyone who might be watching. He wasn’t at all recognizable, but should anyone catch a glimpse of his face, either he’d knock them out or the plan was lost. But no one came, no knight came across him with a torch and asked him what he thought he was doing, he was utterly alone. Strangely, it didn’t make him feel better. He should have run across a guard by now.

                  Pushing the errant thought out of his mind, he shook his head and continued along the courtyard, slipping out of the entrance and edging along the outside of the wall. Arthur hardly dared to breathe. Every beat of his heart was too loud, every breath broke the silence, with every twig that cracked underneath his feet he expected guards to converge on him. He had disobeyed orders before, he had snuck out before, but certainly never to this extent. This was undermining his father’s authority to the entire kingdom.

                  Arthur gulped.

                  All he had to do was wait in the woods for Merlin, it had been mutually agreed—among Gwen and Morgana—that given the opportunity, he could break himself out with help from Morgana and Gaius. All Arthur had to do was wait at a particular clearing in the woods, where he would meet Merlin. Sooner or later the bells would start ringing and he’d see a slim, shadowed figure coming towards him.

                  What he hadn’t thought about was what to do then. Merlin couldn’t go off on his own, he’d die first. Arthur was sure of that. But he couldn’t follow Merlin either, leave behind everything. That would be ridiculous. Beyond insanity. Uther would never stop hunting them, they would never have peace from Camelot patrols, they would have to move constantly…but Merlin would be hunted if he were on his own, too.

                  _I fear I will never leave Camelot._

                  The words he had said to Gwen what felt like so long ago, hollowed out by his memory, whispered to him. It sounded foreign now, like those words belonged to someone else. Someone who had not lived through the debilitating horror of watching Gwen be accused of magic, find out his manservant was a sorcerer, and swear to protect him before losing him.

                  And all this because his own father’s prejudice of magic.

                  Arthur clenched his fists, a new resolution shining in his eyes. He _would_ leave, gods help him. To live in Camelot for a sorcerer was torture itself, he could see it now, and for him, the prince—it was even more so. He would not take the throne. They could find someone else to rule them.

                  A small stutter in his heart made his breath catch in his throat, and he imagined Uther after he found out his son had left him. The horror, the betrayal that would twist his features. The man who had raised him would never recover from this, Arthur knew that.

                  And then a different image painted the inside of his eyelids. Merlin, relaxed and easy, a wide smile stretching his mouth and dark eyes sparkling. There was no hole in his abdomen, no trace of the revenge Uther had taken on him. He was…happy.

                  Right then and there, Arthur’s resolve was cemented. He began to plan.

                  Merlin would hide out in the forest for a few days or so, they would work out somewhere where the knights wouldn’t find him. Arthur would join him once it was clear no sorcery was driving him. Whether he was going to explain to Uther what he would do…well, he couldn’t. That would be inviting trouble, and Arthur would be locked up for the rest of his days if the king had his way. He would never find Merlin again if that happened.

                  Once he had left Camelot for good, they would find somewhere else to go. Gwen, even, could come. That would be brilliant. Arthur grinned in the darkness. They would find a small town, or a village far away where they weren’t known. Arthur would never be able to see the royalty or the nobles for fear of being recognized, but that would be fine. He could survive that.

                  Just as these brand new endings were forming in his mind, he caught glance of a cloaked figure hurrying towards him, weaving gracefully in and out through the trees. His heart leapt in his throat and he took an involuntary step forward, he forgot everything about where he was and how dangerous it would be now to get recognized— _it was Merlin_.

                  But the figure came closer, and Arthur frowned. Something was off. Merlin was never graceful in anything he did, and nor did he wear green velvet, or have long dark hair that fell down past delicate shoulders.

                  “Morgana?” Arthur hissed, unthinkingly laying a hand on his sword. “What are you doing here? Where the hell is Merlin?”

                She came closer, wrapping the cloak around herself and met his gaze with wide, fearful eyes. “Arthur,” she said. Her voice was shaking. “He wasn’t there.”

                Arthur’s vision blurred. “You—what do you mean he wasn’t there? He has to be there, he’s a fucking prisoner! Where else do they keep the damn things?”

                  Morgana took another step and grabbed his arm. “Uther must have known you’d try something.”

                  “ _Bullshit!_ ” he whirled away from Morgana, breathing hard, and all the shining things he thought he would do once he was free fell like dominoes. Uther had taken Merlin and hidden him somewhere, the bastard, and the chances of getting him out before he was sentenced to die just became somewhere in the range of slim to none. “Are the guards still asleep?”

                  “Well, yeah, but it doesn’t do us any good when we know he isn’t anywhere we can find him. He could be anywhere, Arthur. We don’t have a clue of where to start.”

                  “So what? What’s your brilliant plan? We give up and watch him burn? I will get up on that stake myself and douse the flames if that’s what it takes.”

                  Morgana’s face was stricken. “I’m afraid I can’t think of another answer,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

                  “What about Gwen? Is she okay?”

                  “She’s fine, she’s home and sleeping. I checked before coming out to see you.”

                  “At least she’s safe,” Arthur said distractedly. “We have to find Merlin.”

                  “Our chance tonight is over,” Morgana answered, her voice stronger now. “Dawn is coming and we can’t be caught out here like this. Uther will have a fit and we’ll both be sent to the dungeons until it’s too late to save Merlin, he’ll make sure of that. Nor will it take long for him to accuse of being traitors.”

                  “Morgana,” Arthur said. His voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”

                  A bitter, twisted smile crossed her face. “Go back to bed. We’ll figure something out in the morning. Merlin won’t be murdered today, I can assure you of that.”

                 

                  Later, when the sun had risen and Camelot had woken, the stake caught on fire by itself. Arthur watched it burn from his window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this took a long time, so if anyone is still reading, thank you!! This was a tough chapter to write, especially for it being short. I hope it's still decent to read!


	11. Wait

“Too late?” Arthur said, his voice actually breaking with panic. “Too late for what, too late to leave?”

                  “They’re coming,” Merlin and Morgana said at exactly the same. “They’re coming now,” Morgana finished alone. “Here.”

                  Merlin’s eyes were the darkest Arthur had ever seen them when he motioned to Arthur. “Behind me.” His voice left no room for negotiation and Arthur gritted his teeth before standing reluctantly behind Merlin’s shoulder, unsheathing his sword. “This doesn’t mean you get to sacrifice yourself for me,” he murmured, and saw the smallest smile twitch at Merlin’s lips.

                  The hand that held the sword didn’t shake and his breathing came calm and even. The adrenaline had been muted, the feel of Merlin’s skin beneath his fingers no longer burned on his fingers, right now all his energy was being channelled through his blade. He didn’t want this fight, but he would do it.

                  “Morgana,” Merlin said, and held out his hand. She nodded wordlessly and slid her own hand into his, and then simultaneously, both raised them and began to chant. Arthur watched, fascinated, as blurred images from the spell he was hearing ran through his mind like water through fingers. It spoke of protections, barriers and defense and strength. He could feel it weaving itself into being around them, into the doors and windows, into the very grains of the wood that made up the walls. Without knowing what it was, Arthur instinctively understood that to break this spell would take immense power.

                  When, after a long moment of hearing liquid words, they finally stopped, Morgana shuddered and flexed the hand that had held Merlin’s. “Sharing magic with you…it’s strange,” she said.

                  Merlin smiled wryly. “I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not.”

                  She was still twisting her hand when she answered. “Neither do I.”

                  Arthur’s hand had just begun to slacken, anticipating that the emergency was not as dire as Morgana had made it out to be, when a weird, keening scream split the silence in half.

                  Arthur watched Merlin’s head whip towards him, saw his lips form something he didn’t understand. His hand stretched automatically towards Merlin’s, saw it reach back, and a foreign scream that was rising in his throat never got to his lips.

                  There was a flash of heat, and the world went white.

 

                  _Breathe._

                  His head was aching. Blood thudded in his ears.

                  _Breathe_.

                  He was here, all over again. He was back. His chest felt like every bone in it had splintered His organs had turned to dust.

                  _Breathe_.

                  There was something warm and sticky on the side of his face, plastering his hair to his head.

                  _Breathe._

                  In opening his eyes, Merlin discovered he could see. When his fingers twitched, he knew he could move. When his hearing came back slowly, he discovered his ears were working. He lifted his head and knew his spine hadn’t broken.

                  _Breathe._

                  Something was accosting his ears, the sound of whimpering. It took a moment before he realized it was him. His throat hurt and his fuzzy mouth tasted like blood.

                  “Arthur,” Merlin groaned. He reached out a hand, looking for something of Arthur, his arm or his head. When his vision had focused enough to recognize the trees in the clearing, he spotted a blond head matted with blood a few feet away. It wasn’t moving.

                  “Arthur.” He started to drag himself forward, only to be stopped by Morgana’s painful shriek. “ _No!_ Merlin, don’t move!”

                  “Morgana,” he said hoarsely, and his throat hurt worse than ever. “Morgana!”

                  “Get up and help me, they’re coming!” Her voice was distant to him, but with an effort that took every cell in his body, Merlin turned himself over on his back. His breath was coming harder and harder out of lungs that felt shrivelled, and when his eyes had stopped seeing red again, he could see the thick plumes of smoke that rose from the wreck that used to be his home.

                  It was still belching fire and the thick, choking smoke that filled his lungs now. There was nothing left except a collapsed pile of desiccated and burnt wood that had collapsed in on itself. The smell was unbearable, stinging his nose and his eyes until he retched onto the grass and wiped his mouth, spitting out what was left. His entire body was shaking with convulsions, trying to release the poison inside of him.

                  Merlin sat up agonizingly slowly, feeling every joint scream with protest as he did it. Morgana was already on her feet, looking back at him with wild eyes. There was dirt smeared on her face and one of her eyes was bloodshot and swollen, there were bleeding scrapes on her face and arms, but besides that and a limp, she seemed to be functioning.

                  “They’re coming!” she screeched, and it rang through Merlin’s brain. He still couldn’t make himself stand up. All he wanted to do was crawl over to Arthur and turn him over, see his eyes, check his pulse, clutch his hand as he felt that relief that would sweep through him.

                  _Please let him be alive. Please._

                  “Merlin!”

                  He ignored Morgana’s voice, pushing himself upon trembling limbs. When he rose to his feet, red washed over his sight again before returning and he drew in a deep breath.

                  _Please. Please let him live. I will do anything to let him live._

“Merlin! Help me!”

                  Merlin risked a glance over to where Morgana stood. Three hooded figures seemed to melt into being as he watched, creeping out of the woods. Their hands were linked and even from where Merlin was he could see their eyes burning a deep, startling amber, something he’d never seen before. His breath hitched in his throat and abruptly another wave of nausea rose inside him, and he collapsed to knees to retch again. When his vision had returned and his limbs were no longer shaking, he saw Morgana backing up. She was shrieking desperate spells that seemed to do nothing except ricochet off of those eerie figures. They said nothing, didn’t flinch when Morgana’s eyes glowed gold, and advanced on her with every step.

                  His heart pounding in his veins, with every cell screaming at him to go check on Arthur, Merlin turned away from the limp body that lay a few feet away from him and staggered towards Morgana.

                  Still a yard away from her, Merlin halted and took in a deep breath. The corners of his eyes were still tinged with red and his arms felt heavier than they had ever been in his life.

                  “Morgana,” he called hoarsely. “Morgana!”

                  There were tears streaking down her face.

                  “Morgana!” Merlin yelled, and his blistered throat burned from the pain. “Get out of the way!”

                  They were closer now, and Morgana threw one desperate look in his direction before doing what she was told and throwing herself to the side. Merlin raised his hand and stared directly at the three figures that now turned towards him, and concentrated his magic so his entire body cracked and sparked witht energy, a halo of angry golden light moving restlessly around him.

                  “Leave here,” he said, and the authority that he so little spoke with filled his voice now. “Your power cannot match my own, and you will die if you stay.”

                 “You underestimate us,” one of them said, and Merlin nearly jerked his hand back at the sound. It was almost girlish, filled with no bitterness and no anger. It was the type of voice you would expect a druid with no trouble in their life would have, or a child from Camelot. It was empty, with no experience in it, no passion. There was nothing at all. “Our magic is strong.”

                  “Perhaps,” Merlin said softly. Magic was filling his body and mind now, behind his eyes and underneath his fingernails there was enough power to kill a man with a twitch, and he would cause an explosion that would kill everyone within a mile if he wasn’t careful. “But my name is Emrys. You do not know well enough to fear me. And now you never will.”

                  Perhaps they stopped. Merlin didn’t know. His hand flexed, his head tilted upwards.

                  _“Gesbraicht,”_ he breathed, felt his body rip apart with energy, and he knew no more.

 

*

                 

 _Hadn’t taken long to build another one_ , Arthur thought dizzily. A new stake stood outside his window, shining in the afternoon sunlight. The execution was set for that evening, which was strange, Uther usually liked to start his days with an execution rather than end them.

                  Uther. Somewhere along the way, Arthur had stopped thinking of him as father.

                  Both Morgana and Gwen had been in, mainly to check that he wasn’t panicking, which oddly, he wasn’t. He knew he should be. He knew Merlin was going to die that night. He knew he would have to watch him burn. That this was a memory that would stay with him forever. But he felt—almost serene, as though he knew, somehow, that Merlin would live.

                  The sun hid behind clouds soon after, and that serenity vanished with it. Soon Arthur was pacing back and forth in his room, no doubt wearing a path in the carpet, and his mind had become nothing more than a round of questions, listening to the same ones over and over again and unable to answer them. Could Merlin save himself? Exactly how powerful was he? Powerful enough to stop this, somehow? What if he was wrong and Merlin had been hiding his true nature all along, not that of magic, but a deeper, darker inclination?

                  On and on it went, through breakfast—which he didn’t eat—to lunch, which he threw up after, to midafternoon, when Gwen finally came in again.

                  “Still confined to your chambers?” she asked with an empathetic smile, shutting the door behind her.

                  “Of course,” Arthur snapped. His voice felt rusty from disuse; he’d barely spoken the entire day. “Uther knows exactly what I would do if I could, I’ve made no pretence about that.”

                  Gwen frowned. “You told me you would try. He shouldn’t know anything about how you feel about Merlin.”

                  Arthur gestured wildly. “Have you forgotten that only a few weeks after I met him, I disobeyed the king to save Merlin’s miserable life? Almost at the expense of my own? Do you think he would forget something like that so easily?”

                  “Arthur, I—”

                  “And what do you mean how I _feel_ about Merlin? I don’t want him to die, but that’s it!”

                  Gwen raised her hands. “Fine. You feel nothing for Merlin except an unwillingness to let him burn at the stake, he’s your servant and nothing more, and _you_ are a ridiculously stupid man. He’s not going to die, Morgana’s going to make sure of it, so all you have to do is sit here and try not to jump out the window to get to Merlin. Understand?”

                  And she was gone before Arthur could answer, slamming the door behind her.

                  “What does that mean?” he shouted after her, but no answer came, and the unanswered question bounced around the room until the sound of his voice had faded.

                  Evening came quickly. Morgana came in and out and then in again and Arthur dismissed her every time, citing a headache he didn’t have. More than anything he wanted to be alone. He didn’t know why, except for some unreasonable voice that lurked at the back of his head, which flinched every time someone came in. Even when a bird fluttered at his window Arthur shooed it away, feeling too exposed, too human for even a cardinal to look on.

                  Instead of finding ways to save Merlin’s life, Arthur found himself dwelling more and more on the man himself. The oddly dignified grace he had when Arthur watched him walk across the courtyard from the window, the ramrod straight posture he had on a horse, the curve of his lips right before a smile broke out, how he actually liked it when Gaius forgot to cut Merlin’s air and it blew in a bright breeze, curling at the nape of his neck. The slim, calloused hands that were so deft at their work, the sour expression he wore when Arthur was drunk, the care he took when one of the knights had been injured. He was no physician, but the serious calm behind his eyes and the knot between his eyebrows when he frowned might have told otherwise. All this and more ran through Arthur’s head, too fast to cling to, but the taste and sight of it was so addicting that Arthur couldn’t make himself stop. It had only been a few days, but already he missed his servant’s voice, being woken by cheerful humming and an annoyingly chipper greeting every morning. All those things he picked at Merlin for were becoming uncomfortably sharp in his mind’s eye, and now he wished that Merlin would walk through the door and throw a goblet at _him_ if it meant he would stay alive just for a little longer. Just long enough for Arthur to talk to him.

                  There was a knock at his door, and Arthur’s head whipped around. The sun had set. The last sun that Merlin would ever see had set. His eyes closed briefly and when he opened them, Morgana was standing in the threshold of his room. Her voice shook when she spoke.

                  “It’s time.”

                  Arthur shook his head stupidly, rejecting any possibility that the day had wasted away and he had done nothing with it except remember a man that was still alive. “No. No, I—I didn’t get to say goodbye. He’s going to live.”

                  “Oh, Arthur,” Morgana whispered, reaching for him, but he stepped blindly back. “No! No, I can’t—I can’t watch him die,” he choked out, and pressed his hand to his throat. The lump there was growing by the second. “Please.”

                  “I’m so sorry. He—I couldn’t get him out.”

                  “You couldn’t get him out? _You_ couldn’t get him out? I’m going to watch Merlin burn at the stake because you didn’t feel like going down to the cells?”

                  Morgana looked at him with sad, red-rimmed eyes. “I know you don’t mean that.”

                  “No,” Arthur said, gasping for breath now. “No I—I didn’t mean to—”

                  “Calm down.”

                  “No, Morgana, please—please say something to Uther, please don’t let—don’t let him—”

                  Arthur tripped and hit the bed, banging his head painfully against the post. “I—I can’t watch—”

                  “Arthur,” Morgana said sharply, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a sitting position with strength he didn’t know she had, “you need to get yourself together, okay? Uther will have a fit if he sees you like this, you know he will, he’ll think you’ve been…doing stuff with Merlin, and that won’t go over well. He’ll end up torturing Merlin as well as killing him, you understand me? He will die painfully and slowly if you can’t pull yourself up and go downstairs to watch this.”

                  “You are telling me,” Arthur said, enunciating slowly, “that if I don’t watch Merlin die, Uther will torture him. That’s what you’re telling me.”

                  “You know how his mind works as well as I do. You think he won’t come to conclusions that will make it even harder for Merlin? If…if he has to die—” she choked over the word, “—then at least make it a quick death. Gaius is already unable to speak about this; you want to make it worse for him? You want Merlin to die with whip marks on his back?”

                  “I don’t want him to die at all!”

                  _“Arthur!_ I am sorry, you know how sorry I am, I love him just as much as you do, but Merlin is going to die. I can’t stop it. No one can. I’m sorry.”

                  Arthur’s sob hitched in his throat and Morgana pulled him forward into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured into his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

 

                  It was a mere half hour after that when Uther walked into Arthur’s room, where he sat alone, staring wanly out the window.

                  “Arthur.”

                  “Father,” he answered dully. “What is it you want?”

                  “Your servant is about to be executed. You’re coming down to watch it with me.”

                  Arthur barely flinched at his words. He had known what was coming. “Must I?” he asked, the dimmest glimpse of hope for a reprieve. “After all, he is my—”

                  “You will come down to watch it with me,” Uther repeated. “Merlin is a well-liked figure among the servants, so I’ve become aware of. Your absence will mean your approval of his actions, and I will not have the servants coming up to you with half-baked plans and whispers of sorcery for the next few months. Get dressed, I expect you down in five minutes.”

                  “May I stand with Gaius?” Arthur asked suddenly. Uther paused. “I’ll still be there, but Gaius is feeling terrible enough already for not having recognized the sorcery living in his quarters. May I stand with him? It may bring him some comfort.”

                  “I suppose…that is allowable,” Uther said magnanimously. “But you will not move from there. I don’t want anything you do to give away how you clearly…feel,” he finished, eyeing Arthur with something akin to disgust. “Sorcery in the very castle, under my very nose, and my son is upset about it,” he muttered, and then swept from Arthur’s chambers. The doors banged shut behind him.    

                  “Yes,” Arthur breathed wretchedly. “Yes, your son is upset about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this has been a long wait! this is a short chapter but hopefully it's still ok to read :) i literally only finished because i used the trick where you only write in comic sans?? anyway it's insane but if you have writers block try it because it actually works


	12. Call To Me

Something was calling to him. A soft, familiar voice he knew only too well. It was desperate, hinging on insanity, something was _wrong_ with the voice, something was horribly wrong—

                  Merlin’s eyes snapped open and above him, someone gasped. The voice faded into rougher cadences that spoke of home, and Merlin blinked away the blood in his eyes to see Arthur leaning over him, cradling his head in his hands.

                  “Er…what…” Merlin began hazily, but Arthur shushed him. Dried blood still painted the side of his head and his face was pale and pinched, part of one his eyebrows had been seared off, but his eyes were as blue as ever, and the worry that was in them made a sort of warmth fill Merlin’s belly. “Did I…did I…”

“They’re gone,” Arthur breathed. He was stroking back Merlin’s hair, ignoring the blood that matted it. “They’re gone, you got rid of them, I was so worried. Gods know how you did it in the state you were in, but you did it.”

“I killed them,” Merlin said weakly, trying to prop himself up to his elbows. “I—I did that, didn’t I?”

The slight smile that had appeared on Arthur’s face since Merlin opened his eyes vanished now. “You had to,” he said quietly. “There was no choice in the matter. They were going to kill us.”

“Wait, what about—”

“Morgana’s fine,” Arthur interrupted. “She went ahead to the druid camp she came from. We’re going to stay there until we can rebuild.”

“ _Rebuild?_ ” Merlin said incredulously. “No, we’re not rebuilding. We’re going to Camelot.”

Arthur paused. “Why on earth would we go back to Camelot?”

“Help me up.”

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to—”

“Help me _up_ ,” Merlin said impatiently. “C’mon.”

Arthur snorted before sliding his arm underneath Merlin’s knees and the other underneath Merlin’s back, and then hoisting him up into his arms so Merlin’s head lay tucked against Arthur’s chest.

                  “Hey—put me down! You’re in no condition to carry anyone anywhere,” Merlin protested, but he curled a little closer into Arthur’s chest. Even the movement from the ground to his arms had made him woozy.

“Sure,” Arthur said. “I think your ears are most of the weight anyway.”

“Whatever. When you fall and drop me before we get to wherever we’re going, it’s me who’s going to have to use magic to get you back up,” Merlin said feebly, somewhat lacking his usual bite.

“Right,” Arthur said, hoisting him further up into his arms. “Whatever you say.”

They ended up in the tiny barn where they kept Fred during the winter. It was bitterly cold and it had taken all of Merlin’s remaining energy to light a fire, and when it had at last sparked reluctantly to life, Merlin had immediately slumped back into Arthur’s arms.

Arthur was more than acquainted with the impact Merlin’s magic sometimes had on his body, and this was one of those times when it was for the worse rather than better. He was alive, breathing steadily, but his skin had been so bright when Arthur first found him on the ground that it had been virtually transparent, shining through his fingernails and snaking all the way up his arms, and his eyes, when they had opened, were a pale, brilliant yellow, lighter than Arthur had ever seen them.

Merlin was lying against Arthur now, back pressed to his chest, head lying back on Arthur’s shoulder. His entire body was twitching with power, but it was something that couldn’t be converted into physical energy. Merlin had tried before. Usually when he felt like this, Arthur would have dragged him to bed and ordered to stay there for at least a day, done the chores himself, and joined him in bed in the afternoons, because if he didn’t, Merlin would find a way to coax Arthur to let him get up. And it always worked.

But that was not an option anymore. Now all Arthur could do was chafe his hands up Merlin’s arms, ignore the unyielding ache in his head and legs, and hope that Morgana would make it back before he got any worse. Before the darkness creeping in at the corners of his vision took over, and Merlin was left with an unconscious Arthur, a dying fire, and a curious but utterly unhelpful cow.

“Merlin?” Arthur murmured.

“Yeah?” His voice broke even from the strain of speaking.

“I told you not to sacrifice yourself for me.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to be okay, right?” Arthur said tentatively, hating how vulnerable it made him sound. “I’m not going to be carrying a corpse to a druid camp.”

Merlin gave an odd, breathless laugh. “I’ll be fine. Do you want me to sit up? I can sit up, if that makes it easier for you.” Impulsively he moved his legs, and the fire flickered and failed for a moment before he relaxed again. “Never mind,” he said wearily. “I can’t.”

“I don’t want you to move,” Arthur breathed into his hair, and felt Merlin still in his arms. “I like you alive, you know.”

“Do you? I seem to remember times when you would have thrown me to the wolves if you could have.” His words were casual enough, but Arthur heard the unmistakable click of his throat as he swallowed.

“Mm…I don’t think so,” Arthur said quietly. The wind was howling and snow was beginning to fly outside the barn, making the walls rattle and the fire dance. What was left of the brown leaves that had covered the ground skittered across the floor and even Fred was quiet, tail swishing behind her. Hestia was pacing in the corner, eyes like distant lights staring at them both. “You did scare me, sometimes. You’d leave and claim you were finding herbs for Gaius and I wouldn’t see you for days. I thought for sure something had happened to you, get more and more worried and then you’d come back, covered in scratches and bruises and usually bleeding in one place or another. And I was so angry.”

“You were good at that.”

Arthur tightened his hold on Merlin, who pressed back into him. “I always thought I’d lost you. Just like now, when you—when you—” his voice faltered.

“When I saved all our lives. Again.”

“And nearly died,” Arthur reminded him sharply. “Merlin, I don’t…I just, I can’t…”

“You can’t what?” Merlin said softly. His finger was tracing circles on Arthur’s knee.

“I don’t know!” he said, frustrated. “I just—I can’t spend my life terrified for you. You’re so reckless, and nothing I say seems to stop you.”

“I’m not reckless,” Merlin started, but Arthur cut him off again.

“Yes, you are. Something went wrong in that hollow head of yours, and you think that your magic is—is what, all you’re good for? Have you considered that I might want to keep _you_ alive, not just your magic? That your life is worth just as much as mine is?”

“That’s never been my destiny,” Merlin said, his voice growing stronger. “My destiny was to protect—”

“Fuck destiny,” Arthur said quietly, and Merlin’s head tipped back. The arch of his throat was glistening in the dim light and his lips had never looked so inviting, warm and chapped and tasting of who knew what…

Arthur fought himself away from distraction. “That—that was the whole point of this,” he stammered, trying to remember the train of thought he’d had only a moment ago. “This was about ignoring destiny, not leaving a mess for someone to clean up, but finding our own way. You don’t get to say that anymore. You’re worth just as much as I am. And,” he added, “didn’t that dragon say we were going to unite that land of Albion _together_? Not with you serving me, but together. Because we’re two _halves_ of the same whole, you idiot. Not one worth thirty percent and the other seventy. This is a half and half thing.”

Merlin’s eyes were heartbreakingly warm, filled with something Arthur had never seen before. “I…”

“What?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t think of it that way. I always thought my job was to protect you. That’s why I have the magic I do.”

“Which you don’t _need_. You think I wouldn’t still be here if you didn’t have magic?”

“Of course not, there would be no need to run if I didn’t have magic,” Merlin said.

“I—I would still be here,” Arthur said haltingly.

Merlin frowned. “Why?” His fingers on Arthur’s leg had paused.

“Because, you—I—I’m just trying to say…all I think is that—”

“ _What,_ Arthur? Spit it out already,” Merlin said.

“Nothing!” Arthur finally said, throwing his hands up. He winced. “Ouch. There’s nothing, Merlin, so just sit there and try to work up enough energy to stay alive until Morgana gets back.”

“Fine.” Merlin crossed his arms, which didn’t do much to give away his anger, because he was still lying between Arthur’s legs. “Whatever. But we’re still going back.”

“What?” Arthur said disbelievingly. “You’re lying here nearly dead, probably because of Uther—”

“Or whoever followed Morgana,” Merlin muttered.

“And,” Arthur plowed on, “you still want to save his miserable life?”

“He’s your father,” Merlin said steadily. “If you don’t remember, mine died, so I’d be grateful if you’d let me save yours.”

Arthur halted. “I—I know yours died,” he said. “But it was at the hands of mine.”

“More like a bandit.”

“If my father had never lived, your father would not have been taken from his home. Nor would he be the last of his kind. Nor would Camelot have been in danger from the wrath of a bloody dragon. Nor—”

“Yes, and if your father had never lived, you wouldn’t have either!” Merlin said sharply. “You would not be here if he weren’t, Arthur, and you mean rather a lot to me, so I’d appreciate it if you’d let me help you!”

“This isn’t helping me! This is helping him!”

Merlin groaned. “Arthur, if you keep me from curing him, you will never forgive yourself. I can promise that. You will never be the same, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t care,” Arthur whispered. “I can’t lose you again.”     

Merlin hesitated. “You never lost me in the first place,” he said. “We’ve always been a part of each other. We’re two different sides, but we’re the same coin. You won’t lose me.”

Arthur closed his eyes and searched for Merlin’s hand, desperately knotting his fingers with Merlin’s cold ones when he found it. He was holding it so tightly he could barely feel his own. “You promise?” he said, and felt Merlin squeeze his hand even harder.

“Of course.”

“Good,” said another voice, and both of them jerked around to see Morgana standing at the entrance to the barn. She was holding the reins to two unfamiliar horses. Six people stood behind her, each one with magical symbols carved somewhere on their skin, and they all smiled with relief when they saw the two of them. “Now that we’ve settled that you’re in love, do you think we could go?”

 

* * *

 

            It was exactly how he had pictured it. Merlin was dressed in rags, with scrapes and painful-looking bruises decorating his body, and rope bound tightly around his hands. His head was bowed. The entire lower town had gathered in the square, meaning that Merlin had one thin path to walk down through the castle to the stake that glowed in late evening sunlight, surrounded by people. The low murmur of conversation was hushed and surprisingly quiet for the amount of people there, pushing against each other, smelling of sweat and smoke, and what snippets Arthur could hear was made up of people already mourning Merlin.

            It felt like a cold hand had grabbed his heart and squeezed it.

            When Uther spoke from the balcony, it rang crisply through the square, shocking Arthur out of his thoughts.

            “This man,” he began, and the crowd hushed instantly, “has been found guilty of using sorcery and enchantments. As unto the laws of this land, he will be punished, and purged of his sorcery by means of fire.”

“No!” someone cried, a lone voice out of the hundreds that could have spoken, and beside Arthur, Gaius flinched.

“It’s okay,” Arthur murmured.

“It is anything but okay,” Gaius said, and when Arthur looked, there were tears running down his face. “He had a destiny. And Uther will destroy it.”

“Silence!” Uther bellowed. He took a deep breath. “I will not have my authority… _flouted_ in the midst of an execution.”

All this time, Merlin stood stock-still. Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off him. His hair was curling at the nape of his neck and around his ears, and even from where he stood, Arthur could see his eyelashes fluttering. It almost looked as though he was speaking, his lips moving too fast to tell, and if he was, it was under his breath.

Perhaps it was a prayer.

Arthur turned away, hand pressing at his throat to stop the lump that felt like it was growing there. His mind was no longer numb but sharp and achingly clear, and some part of him knew that the details of this would stay in his mind for the rest of his life.

Uther was saying something else but Arthur wasn’t listening, he was watching Merlin, who was holding his head up now. His eyes were glittering, hard and cold and his lips were tensed into nothing more than a rigid line and for the first time since he had found out, Arthur could see the shadow of the sorcerer on his face.

He was moving forward step by step, and Gaius took in a great shuddering gasp before turning away. Arthur was too stunned, too unable to believe what his eyes were showing him to comfort Gaius, who was saying something in a choked voice, repeating something that sounded like “can’t do this,” over and over and over again.

He was moving too fast, Arthur didn’t like it. The wind was blowing through Merlin’s thin clothes and Arthur could tell how cold he was from the way his hands were curled into fists. The rope was too tight around those thin wrists and Arthur’s eyes were studying him gratefully, like skin that was seeing the last of the sun before it drowned behind a cloud, soaking in everything he could, that black hair, the exact shade of his eyes, the uncertain grace in the way he moved, everything.

Too soon Merlin was close enough that Arthur could hear the shuffling of his feet, the quick pants of breath he drew in, but he didn’t look frightened. The expression on his face was that of a man who had already burned at the stake and knew its secrets now, knew how not to burn, and despite the urge to look away, Arthur couldn’t. He longed to reach out and the clasp that bruised hand and wipe away the dried blood on his arm. When he was only inches away Merlin glanced at him, the quickest of looks, but for the barest second the tightness of his mouth loosened, his eyes widened, and a smile broke across his face. A smile filled with the bitterness of old men and the incorruptibility of youth all at the same time, and in it, only for a moment, Arthur was able to see the man he would have been. And he was frozen. Unable to smile back until it was gone and the guard behind Merlin shoved him so he stumbled forward. And all Arthur had was the memory of a smile that was already fading from his mind’s eye.

It was only a few more steps after that before Merlin was taken by his shirt and dragged cruelly up onto the wooden base, hitting his head on it before being pulled up and slammed against the stake itself.

“Keep still,” an unknowable guard ordered in a hoarse voice, but he didn’t have to, Merlin was already so weak that his legs could scarcely hold him up. His wrists and ankles were tied quickly and efficiently, so when the guard stepped back those ropes were the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the ground.

Uther didn’t have to say anything more. Everyone knew the consequences of magic and here they were, tied up neatly in the example of his son’s servant. It was with a leaping heart and a barely contained grin that he nodded, and watched a guard light the torch.

By now Arthur felt like he was choking on blood instead of the lump in his throat. The torch was bright against the dusky sky, lighting up a dim halo of the square. A small piece of him noted how dark it had gotten.

The guard leaned down and set fire to the corner of the stake.

It flared instantly, crackling joyfully, hungry for wood and flesh. Merlin’s eyes were shining in the reflection of it but still he did nothing, every molecule in Arthur’s body was shrieking for justice, begging him to move, but he could hardly work up the will to breathe—

“Please,” Merlin breathed, and Arthur’s head jerked up, he was already laying a hand on his sword when Merlin finished his sentence.

“Be careful.”

Arthur stopped.

Uther laughed. “Be careful? Of what, the sorcerer that dies at my mercy today? What is there to be afraid of but a little boy who chose the wrong path?”

“I chose no path,” Merlin said, quieter still, so that Uther had to lean in to hear him over the roar of the fire. “My path leads to your son, Uther, and no other. It was made long before I was born, and I will walk it, and your fire will not kill me. It will lend me strength.”

Merlin was beginning to choke now and Arthur’s mind was alight with panic, he was pushing people aside to get to the stake but they had closed in on it, he couldn’t get through.

“You forget who I am,” Merlin said, and now his voice was rising. “You think yourself wise, but you are not wise enough to fear me as I should be feared.”

“Merlin!” Arthur screamed, he was getting closer to him but so was the fire, and Merlin didn’t so much as look his way when he heard his name, and then something lit up in Arthur’s brain. “Emrys!” he shouted, wilfully shoving people aside now. “Emrys, please!”

The smoke was getting to Merlin now, his eyes were watering and his breath was coming hard. But he looked up when he heard Arthur, and an expression of grace crossed his face.

“Yes,” he murmured. “That is what the druids call me.”

His head snapped up and suddenly Merlin’s eyes were glowing golden, deep and dark, it lit up every fraction of skin so he looked like he was glowing, far brighter than the fire that was beginning to envelope him. No words crossed his lips but none needed to, Arthur could feel the absolute power radiating from him, pulsing uncomfortably against his own skin. It was gathering within him, surrounding him like a mist of magic.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed. His sword hung slack at his side.

Merlin was looking directly at him and when he opened his mouth, a scream erupted from him like nothing Arthur had ever heard before. It was a shriek of pain, a demand for justice and everything in between. He closed his eyes against it, it was hurting his ears, every part of him was hurting from that scream, wind was blowing against him and he stumbled back, it was too strong and he couldn’t bear it, it was too much and then the scream stopped, and Arthur opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was that the fire had gone out. The stake was smoking and Merlin hung limply from it, looking back at him. His ears were ringing and his face felt raw.

The second thing he noticed was that he was the only one left standing.

All around him, in the entire square were people collapsed on the ground, unconscious but not dead, and some were bleeding from the head where they had hit it. Even Uther had vanished from the balcony, most likely lying beneath it. It was just the two of them.

The courtyard was deadly quiet as they stared at each other. All that could be heard was the silent breathing of hundreds of people, until Merlin said, “I’m sorry,” and his quiet voice drifted across the square.

Arthur opened his mouth and found he had nothing to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to say about the feedback you all are giving me, so I'll stick with thank you! You guys are the reason I'm still writing!


	13. Recover

The druid camp was in a clearing surrounded by massive trees that stretched up to the sky, willows with shadowy branches and pine trees with trunks so thick it would take years to cut them down, apple trees that burst with bright, living fruit even in the dreariness of winter. The tents themselves were a dull grey-green that seemed to glow softly at dusk and fade when the sun rose, but the insides were alive with colour and light, filled with tapestries woven of colours no dye could achieve. Some of these tents were huge, meant for classrooms or hospital quarters, and each one was meticulously taken care of.

            Children were everywhere, giggling, racing, chasing a dog that wriggled when he was caught, hiding behind corners and screaming with laughter when they were found. They were all dressed in different attitudes but they all wore the same shoes; soft grey boots that made no sound when they hit the ground.

            “What—how have they not found you yet?” Arthur said as soon as he had found his voice again. They were being led straight to the tent meant for medical attention but he couldn’t keep his eyes off of the veritable village that he found himself in. And when his attention wasn’t fixed on that, it was on Merlin.

            Merlin was on a different horse, slung over the saddle with a druid behind him to make sure he didn’t fall. His eyes were shut and his face flushed, and occasionally he would take a deep, sucking gasp that made Arthur want to jump off his own horse and run to him. He had actually tried the first time, and it was only a sharp word from Morgana and the chorus of the druids behind her that had stopped him.

           “We are exceptionally careful,” one of the druids answered, a man called Althalos. He was an unassuming man and everything about him seemed to be grey, from his thick head of hair to his mild eyes. “We used to have scouts, men and women to report back on Camelot’s patrols, Uther’s doings, and even yours were carefully monitored when you still lived with your father.”

            “Used to?” Arthur asked, who had noticed the past tense. Althalos gave a slow nod.

            “As I’m sure Morgana has told you, there has been little need for that the past few weeks. The knights, the entire kingdom has been wholly consumed by the illness of their king.”

            By this point they had reached the medical tent, and Arthur felt something cold and cloudy steal into his chest at the mention of his father.

            “He’s…still sick then,” he said, as neutrally as he could manage and instantly regretted his words at the look of pity on the druid’s face, as though it had been carved there.

            “Yes. There are very few who could heal him now.”

            Both men glanced at Merlin. His eyelids were no longer fluttering; they were closed, and he was limp as he was carried from the horse to the tent.

            “But Merlin will be okay,” Arthur said. “Merlin will be fine.”

            Althalos nodded and Arthur felt a wave of relief break over him, so strong he was nearly knocked off his feet. With it came a sudden sweep of dizziness, and he wavered for a moment before he was steadied by Althalos’s hand on his shoulder. His forehead, already wreathed with wrinkles and broken age spots, creased into a deep frown. “You had better come inside,” he said, and in his voice, Arthur felt Gaius’s concern.

 

            They spent a week in the infirmary. Arthur healed quickly, he had suffered a moderate concussion, various cuts and bruises that ached all over his body and a sprained wrist. They had called his injuries ‘miraculously small’, which Arthur did not feel that was the right word at all, and some theorized that Merlin—or Emrys, as they called him—had unconsciously used magic to protect him.

            Morgana was there too, and impatient in the bed a few feet down. On the day they had arrived, just after they were settled, Morgana had shrieked, _“Héloise!”_ and flung herself into the arms of a woman who gripped her, swaying, and buried her golden head in Morgana’s shoulder. She said nothing, but Arthur felt he was intruding just by looking at them together, and soon turned away.

            Merlin woke soon after that, eyes searching for Arthur before he even knew where he was, and smiled in relief when Arthur nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get to him. They slept in adjacent beds now. One of the druids had tried to take Arthur to a different bed, and he had adamantly refused, to Merlin’s embarrassment.

            Days slipped by quickly, jewels on a shining thread. They drank less water, instead taking a cool draught that tasted like air, and food was light and simple. Morgana painstakingly introduced everyone who came in, including the children, who mainly wandered in for the express purpose of gawking at Merlin.

            After a few days he could do magic again, and a couple days after that, he could take relatively short walks. So he spent his days walking with Arthur, performing small tricks of magic for kids who laughed and clapped every time he did this, until he had a following of unsteady children trailing after him everywhere he went.

            They had been there a week and a half when Merlin brought up the subject of Camelot again.

            “Really?” Arthur said. “I thought we were over this.”

            Merlin stretched luxuriously. “Doesn’t count when we’re both lying half-dead in a barn, with one very curious cow.”

            “What does the cow have to do with it?”

            Merlin shrugged. “I don’t know. Seemed relevant.”

            Arthur sighed. “You’re just beginning to recover. Can we leave this alone for a little while longer?”

            Merlin’s expression went dark. “I’m recovering from killing three people. I’d like to do something useful or kind for a change, if that’s alright with you.”

            Arthur ran his hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers grazed the bandaged wound. “You’re recovering from saving all of our lives. Mine, Morgana’s, yours…you saved us. It’s not your fault they decided to attack the most powerful sorcerer that’s ever walked on earth, or that they wouldn’t stop when they could have.”

            “Wouldn’t stop? _Wouldn’t_ stop?” Merlin got up and began to pace. “Did I even give them a chance to stop before I slaughtered them?”

            Arthur leaned over and caught Merlin’s wrist, yanking him sharply backwards. “Are you kidding? When have you _ever_ killed first and thought second?”

            Merlin’s mouth condensed into a grim line, but Arthur interrupted him before he could speak. “The stake doesn’t count. You didn’t kill anyone.”

            “No, but I could have. So, so easily.”

            “No one’s doubting your ability, Merlin. Everyone knows what you can do. But that day was out of your control. You were going to die, and your magic acted out to protect you. That’s not your fault.”

            Merlin sat back down and shook his head irritably, as though a fly was buzzing around his head. “None of that matters. I want to go back to Camelot.”

            Arthur flung himself back into bed with an angry groan. “We don’t have any evidence that they won’t kill you on sight!”

            “So we go in disguise! Cloaks, hoods, magic, it’s not impossible, Arthur.” Merlin’s eyes were shining now; it looked as though a fever had taken him. “How else to convince Uther of the goodness of magic than to heal his fatal illness with it? Can you think of any more affective way to go about it?”

            “What is this about, getting me back on Camelot’s throne?”

            Merlin’s face flickered with discomfort just for a moment, but it was enough to tip Arthur off. His jaw dropped. “You still think I should be in Camelot. You still think that’s where I belong.”

            “It is where you—” Merlin began, but he was too late.

            “Damn it all, Merlin, how many times do I have to prove that I don’t belong anywhere else but by your side?” Arthur shouted. Around them, druids began to glance their way.

            “Would you shut up?” Merlin hissed. “Imagine it for a minute. If you could be king of Camelot, where you have lived most of your life, where you have grown up preparing for a throne.”

            “Exactly,” Arthur snapped. “I’ve had my life to imagine what it would be like to be king of Camelot, and I _don’t want it_. I would rather drink straight from Fred’s udder than go back to lead the kingdom that committed a genocide.”

            Merlin’s lips tightened. “Something you could change. You don’t want anything to do with what your father did? Then go back and change it.”

            “Change what? History? Something that has already happened?”

            “Change the laws!” Merlin was the one shouting now. “You have a God-given power, a right, an ability, to lead! How can you not want to take advantage of that? How can you have what so many others want and refuse to do anything with it?”

            “Me? _I’m_ the one with a God-given power?”

            “Oh, don’t start.” Merlin turned away, fuming.

            “No, I’m not the one who feels guilty every time I use what others would see as a gift! You’re the one with ability, natural, something you didn’t have to be trained into.”

            “I didn’t, did I? Did I forget to mention the hours poring over illegal books in the dead of night?”

            “Illegal due to my own family! The man who raised me! How can you look at my father and tell me that I belong on a throne made of the bones of your own kind? His blood runs in my veins, Merlin, his habits, his—his—whatever that makes him who he is, I have it too.” Arthur sat back down on his bed, suddenly exhausted. “I can never take that throne.”

            Over the space of a minute, Merlin’s face had somehow transformed from angry to unbearably gentle, and he reached out for Arthur’s hand.  
            “Arthur,” he said softly. “Is that what you’re worried about? That you’re too much like him?”

            Arthur bit his lip, and Merlin groaned and leaned his head on Arthur’s shoulder. “His blood runs in your veins,” he said. “But his weakness doesn’t.”

            “How can you say that,” Arthur said shakily. “How can you possibly know who I will be when I put that crown on?”

            “That crown doesn’t change who you are.”

            “It changed him.”

            “It did nothing of the sort. The death of his wife changed him, made him bitter and angry in a way that I don’t think his wife would have ever allowed for, and he took that out on what he saw as the culprit.”

            “He became a monster.”

            “He’s not a monster,” Merlin said contemplatively. “That’s taking his humanity away from him, and whether we like it or not, he was human, just like the rest of us, and he did this. He killed thousands.”

            Arthur wasn’t sure what was worse, what Merlin was saying or the matter-of-fact way in which he said it. He stroked one finger along the sharp line of his cheekbone.

            “You changed me, you know,” he said, and felt Merlin shrug against him.

“I don’t think you’d have ever run away with a servant before I came along.”

            “Not just that. I would have never named a cow before you came along either, nor found it in me to build a house to live in. I couldn’t…”

            Merlin raised his head to blink at him. “Couldn’t what?”

            “I don’t know,” Arthur managed. “I just…feel different. I don’t know if there’s any tangible way to show it.”

            Merlin snorted. “Please, Arthur. No tangible way to show it? When we lived in Camelot, you would never have spoken to me the way you just did.”

            “The way I just spoke?”

            “You were…” Merlin chewed on his lip, trying to find the right word. “Vulnerable. Before we left, you wore arrogance like a crown. It was—irritating beyond belief, and the worst part was that it was believable. I honestly believed that’s who you were. Now I can’t tell if you’ve really changed that much, or if this is who you really were all along.”

            Arthur let out a long breath. “Vulnerable.”

            Merlin nodded. “I never knew her, but I think I can see your mother in you. Much more than I ever saw Uther.”

            “So you think…”

            “I think that whether you belong on that throne or not, you would be a good leader. But it’s up to you. I’m not going to force you into anything.”

            “Except going to Camelot.”

            Merlin nodded. “Except that. I’m going.”

            Arthur sighed, recognizing the strain of stubbornness in Merlin’s voice. “Fine,” he said at last. “We’re going to Camelot.”

 

* * *

 

            The unsteady breathing of hundreds of people knocked unconscious mingled with the wind whistling hollowly through the courtyard. A spattering of rain fell from grim clouds, dampening Arthur’s hair as he staggered towards the stake, tripping over warm bodies.

            “Merlin,” he said hoarsely when he got there and expected no reaction; nor did he get one. Merlin was hanging limply from the roughly hewn pole, his knees had buckled the seconds his magic had burst from him and only the rope kept him standing. His head was hanging like a dead man’s, water dripping calmly from his hair and running down his face.

            Arthur groped for the dagger he always kept by his side, ripping it from the sheath and tearing his shirt in the process. His hand was nearly numb as he sawed through the rope, casting frightened glances around him.

            “Come on,” he muttered as the restraints proved nearly impossible to hack through. “Come on, come on, come on…”

            The ropes at Merlin’s ankles were severed and he immediately slid to the ground, Arthur already working on his wrists.

            “Just—just a little more,” Arthur said wildly, the rational part of his mind unsure whether he was talking to himself or to Merlin.

            At last it was over, it had snapped and Merlin pitched forward, Arthur catching him around the waist and hauling him upward.

            The numbness had spread to his brain now and Arthur felt as though he had never moved slower in his life, every nerve was deadened and his feet felt like nothing more than blocks of wood carrying him dumbly forward. Every step was treacherous, water was glistening on the cobblestones and Merlin had never been so heavy as he was right then, slung over Arthur’s back.

            Just as Arthur thought he was past the worst of it, stepping over tangled bodies and limbs, he faltered and instantly stumbled over a leg slung out into his path. He let out an involuntary cry and automatically flung his hands out in front of him to break his fall, remembering too late what he was carrying. Merlin hit the ground with a dull thud beside him, head lolling back and mouth open and slack, and a stinging pain lanced up Arthur’s legs.

            “ _Goddamn it!_ ” Arthur shouted and slammed his fist into the stone. He had never felt so hopeless, reaching for strength that simply wasn’t there. He was surrounded by unconscious townspeople, a father that had ordered the death of a sorcerer that just happened to be his best friend, a sorcerer that was currently lying on the ground beside him, utterly helpless.

            “Why does everything have to be so hard,” he whispered, and closed his eyes.

            Instantly, as though he had been enchanted to think of it, a picture of Merlin swam before his eyelids. Not the formidable sorcerer with the golden eyes, not the broken young man he had seen too much these past few weeks, but _Merlin_. Like a sigh of relief, or crisp water in his mouth after a long drought, he saw a boy with a guileless smile, kind eyes fixed on Arthur. His hand was closed around the edge of a curtain, about to pull it aside and let sunlight pour into the room.

            “Okay.” Arthur was still breathing hard, heart thudding in his chest. “Okay, I can do this.” He chanced another glance at Merlin, who was just as still as he had been the last time Arthur had looked at him. There were new bruises blossoming over his pale face he hadn’t noticed before.

            “Merlin,” he said again, and for a brilliant moment Arthur fooled himself into thinking he saw an eyelid flutter, until the moment had vanished as quick as it had come.

            Arthur got to his feet, wincing; pain still sparked like lightning through his legs. There was blood pooling at the knees, running down his trousers, mixing with water. He pulled Merlin’s limp form over his back and automatically looked down. He froze.

            The man at his feet was moving.

            Arthur watched, horror-struck, as a murmur escaped the unknown man’s throat and his fingers began to twitch, and suddenly Arthur wasn’t standing there at all but stumbling through the rain, breath tearing at his raw throat, praying to any god who might hear him that he would get to the castle, get anywhere before someone woke and saw the crown prince carrying a sorcerer to safety.

            It was like time itself had slowed, and every step took three times as long. Finally, he was pushing the door open with a trembling hand and stepping through, listening to it shut behind him with an almighty groan. But Arthur didn’t dare rest. Hitching Merlin further over his shoulder, he stifled a thick sob that threatened to choke him, and walked further into the steeping darkness.

 

            It felt like hours before he was trudging down the stairs into the bowels of the castle, where dim torches flickered and made only a small sphere of light in the pitch black. He took a torch with his free hand and began to walk down the roughly carved tunnels, and it seemed an age before he at last reached a small clearing, where all the paths led to, with a pool of clear water glimmering at the edge.

            Arthur put Merlin down carefully, then slid down against the back of the wall with a groan, his head tipping back. His chest rose and fell in harsh pants, loud in the relative silence of the cavern.

            “Do you remember where we are?” Arthur whispered as he caught his breath, his eyes fluttering shut. “This is where we found the Afanc. Morgana came down here with us, determined to do something…the monster was slimy and absolutely massive, and nothing except the torch did anything against it…the torch you told me to use. We’d only known each other for a few weeks. You were still just a servant to me. Clumsy and naïve and confessing to magic when I was sure you didn’t have it.”

            “Yeah,” came a hoarse voice to his left, and Arthur’s eyes snapped open.

            Merlin was grinning at him, pale and thin and covered in marks, but awake. Alive. “What an idiot I was.”

            “Merlin!” Arthur lunged for him and pulled him towards himself, instantly releasing him when Merlin whimpered involuntarily.

            “Shit—sorry, I forgot—”

            But a crease was forming across Merlin’s forehead. “I—how did I get here?”

            Arthur couldn’t help touching him, hands trailing over the bruises, pushing his hair back from his forehead, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt to see the scrapes that adorned his wrists and hands, pulling off the scarf to find another ugly bruise decorating his chest, checking frantically for anything that looked severe.

            “Arthur.”

            “What?”

            “Er—what are you doing?”

            “Making sure you’re not going to die in the next fifteen minutes if I leave you down here,” Arthur muttered.

            “But why am I—”

            “Merlin, shut up!” Arthur said loudly, and to his rare credit, Merlin fell silent.

            ‘You were about to burn to death,” he said, much quieter, letting go of his arm and sitting back, and Merlin’s eyes locked on his. “You told Uther to be careful, that his fire would lend you strength.” He could still hear Merlin’s voice in his head, that note of steel in it. “Gaius was—frozen, there’s no other word for it. I tried to get to you in time but there were too many people, I couldn’t get through.”

            “You called me Emrys,” Merlin remembered.

            Arthur ducked his head and swallowed. “Yes. And then…”

            “And then what?” It felt as though Merlin’s eyes were piercing him.

            “You performed magic,” Arthur whispered, and felt Merlin halt under his fingertips. “I was the only one left standing.”

            Merlin’s eyes widened. “You—I killed all those—”

            “No!” Arthur said hastily. “No, I don’t think you killed anyone. They were just…unconscious. Like they were sleeping. Some had injuries, of course, and one was waking up as I took you here, so I think everyone’s okay. You just sort of…knocked them out.”

            Merlin leaned back. “I hurt them.”

            “It didn’t look like you could control it.”

            “You got me out.”

            “Yes.”

            “Why?” Merlin said roughly, and there was an edge of rubbed raw pain in his voice, so prominent it made Arthur recoil to hear it. He had expected this question, prepared for it even, but now that it came to it he found he had nothing to say. Nothing came to his mind, not the grand speeches about how he knew Merlin had magic and had kept it secret himself, not the comfort he had sought to soothe Merlin with, not even his anger came to his rescue.

            “I…it’s you,” was all he could manage before his throat tightened, and shrugged in a half-hearted attempt to be nonchalant, wrecked by the fact that his hands were trembling and that look was in Merlin’s eyes, the look that meant he already knew exactly what Arthur was feeling.

            “Anyway,” Arthur struggled to say, swallowing hard, “I have to go back. Once they figure out you’re gone, my father will think that I had something to do with it.”

            “Why would they think that?”

            “I—he knew how upset I was,” Arthur admitted shame-facedly. “Gwen told me to hide it, but clearly I couldn’t manage it, and then Morgana and I tried to get you out but you weren’t there, and—”

            “All right,” Merlin said, his eyes closing in exhaustion. “It’s fine. You have to go.”

            “Yeah,” Arthur said eventually. “I guess I do.” He got up and turned to leave, but at the last second Merlin’s hand caught his sleeve, and he turned back. Merlin’s eyes were full of naked fear, moving over Arthur’s face as though it was the last time he would see it.

            “You’re coming back, right?”

            A great well of emotion swelled inside Arthur, and for a moment he couldn’t speak.

            “Of course,” he said softly. Merlin’s grip on him relaxed and his hand thudded to the ground.

            “As long as you are.”

            Arthur resisted the urge to lean back down and trace his finger along a smudge of dirt on Merlin’s cheekbone. “I will always come back,” he said, quieter still, and turned to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the encouragement! More is coming if anyone's still around to read it! :)


	14. I Am Warm, For A Little While

Arthur laughed, loud and long. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

            “I’m not,” Morgana said stubbornly. “I want to come.”

            “You left for a reason, Morgana. This is dangerous, and the fewer people we have, the better. This is entirely Merlin’s doing. If I had my way we wouldn’t be going at all.”

            “So you’re saying I should talk to Merlin?” Morgana said, brightening immediately.

            “Wh—no! This is going to require—stealth and subtlety, neither of which are your strong points.”

            Morgana snorted. “Please. I got away with more stuff than you ever did as a child.”

            Arthur scowled. “That’s because Uther liked you better.”

            “What’s going on?” Merlin said mildly, coming up behind Morgana.

            “Merlin!” Morgana exclaimed, and slung an arm around his shoulders.

            “Er—yeah?”

            She jerked her head towards Arthur. “Tell him I should come.”

            Merlin stared at her, eyebrows raised. “Come where?”

            “Camelot, of course.”

            Merlin turned his head to glare at Arthur. “You tosspot, that was supposed to be a secret! What’re you going around telling everyone for?”

            “It’s not my fault!” Arthur protested. “She pulled it out of me!”

            “Sure she did. No, Morgana, you’re not coming.”

            “And why on earth not?” Morgana said, stepping back and looking distinctly disappointed.

            “Because you are just as well-known as Arthur inside the borders of Camelot, and I’m going to have enough issues keeping him out of trouble. You would double that.”

            “Well— ” Morgana began.

            “And before you start,” Merlin said, cutting her off, “I need Arthur. I’m hardly going to be let into the castle on my own. Besides,” he said, a gentle smile curving his lips, “I don’t think you want to leave Héloise on her own again. I think she would come after us if that were the case.”

            Morgana turned reflexively to see Héloise on the other side of the clearing, chatting with an unknown druid. When she turned back to them, a faint blush had stained her cheeks, just enough to make the jewels of her eyes brighten.

            “All right,” she muttered. “I won’t come.”

            “That’s more like it,” Arthur said, clearly relieved, and clapped her on the shoulder. “You just stay here with your girlfriend and let us do all the wor— _Ouch!_ ” Arthur jumped away from her, rubbing his arm with an aggrieved air; Morgana had slapped him hard enough to leave a red mark.

            “Well,” Merlin said practically. “I think we’ve solved that problem. Arthur, as soon as we’ve packed, we should leave. I’m well enough to travel now and time isn’t exactly on our side, so the sooner we leave, the better a chance we have of curing your father.”

            “Right,” Arthur said, still glaring at Morgana, “fine.”

            Merlin broke the news to Althalos that day, but it was with reluctance the druid let them go. It was clear in the way he shook his head at Merlin’s retreating back that he thought it was a mistake. Packing might have gone faster had children not still been following Merlin around, and in the end, it was only the luminous butterflies he sent flying into the evening air that made the children run for them, leaving Merlin and Arthur alone.

            “Do you think we’re making a mistake?” Merlin asked, wrapping cheese and bread in soft cloth. He kept his eyes on his task, presumably, Arthur guessed, because he didn’t want to see the answer in Arthur’s gaze.

            He sighed. “I don’t know. You know the extent of your powers, Merlin. And something tells me you’d be doing this whether I came along or not, so you must have some faith it’ll turn out the way you want it to.”

            “I just—want him to understand.”

           “That’s not something we can count on,” Arthur said. “Chances are, you’re going to heal him, and then we’re going to have to sneak back out of the city. He will never forgive you for what he sees as taking me away from him. My choice in the matter doesn’t seem to have any bearing on his decision.”

            “So you think it’s pointless.”

            “No, I just think you’re doing an awful lot to save a man that shouldn’t be saved,” Arthur said bluntly. “But it’s too late now, we’re going, so I don’t see the point in arguing about it.”

            “Fine,” Merlin said flatly, and didn’t speak again until they went to bed.

 

            The druids sent them off the next day with many waves and hushed whispers of good luck, though none of them knew where they were going. Many of them took the chance to clasp Merlin’s hand, bowing reverent heads, and a rare few actually kissed the back of his hand, making Merlin’s careful smile falter at the contact, and Arthur frowned at him before he had the chance to pull his arm away, resulting in a very uncomfortable looking Merlin and an exasperated Arthur. Morgana waved them off as well, still rather bitter about them leaving without her, but putting up a good face, and it wasn’t long before they were looking back to see people beginning to break off from the crowd, drifting back to their own lives.

            “Honestly, Merlin,” Arthur said, as soon as they were out of sight of the camp. “Some etiquette might be nice.”

            Merlin hitched the pack further over his shoulders. “What does that mean?”

            “Maybe don’t look like you’d rather be anywhere else than talking to them the next time you see a druid,” Arthur advised him.

            “It’s not my fault they act like I could turn them all to dust with a wave of my hand,” Merlin grumbled. “I hate it. I’m a servant, not a king.”

            Arthur paused for a fraction of a second. “You’re more powerful than all of them combined. Let them show you some respect. And you’re not a servant, not anymore.”

            “Right,” Merlin said waspishly. “I forgot, I’m just the guy living with the should-have-been king of Camelot, who decided he’d rather live in a cabin in the woods than actually take up the throne.”

            “Give it a _rest_ , would you?” Arthur said loudly, making birds around them twitter and take flight.

            Merlin blew out a breath. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

            “You just sat in bed for a whole week,” Arthur said.

            “Yeah, because I was _broken_. Doesn’t count as taking a break when you just came off a massive battle and can’t do proper magic. It’s like you breaking both arms and not being able to wield a sword for months. You’d feel like you’d lost part of what made you who you were, right?”

            “Yes, I suppose I would,” Arthur said, and didn’t mention that the sword by his side had never felt less like an extension of his arm.

            They spent a few minutes in silence, picking through a thin path that broke off and wandered in different directions whenever it felt like it when it wasn’t half-buried in dead leaves and creeping moss.

            “We’re not going to get lost, are we?” Arthur asked.

            Merlin shook his head. “I can see the path ahead. We’re fine. But we ought to be going a little further north in a little while. How long do you think it’ll be before we get to Camelot?”

            “Three days by foot? Should’ve kept those horses we stole.”

            Merlin clapped a hand to his mouth. “Did we—”

            Arthur’s eyes widened. “What?”

            Merlin halted.

            “Did we _what_?” Arthur said, already half in a panic, and stepped forward and ripped Merlin’s hand from his mouth.

            “Fred,” Merlin finally whispered. “Silas, Amos, Jerk…did they…”

            “They’re fine,” Arthur said, relaxing. “One of the druids is going back to take care of them for the time being. Apparently she’s got a way with animals.”

            “Oh, good,” Merlin said, shoulders slumping in relief. He glanced down, and Arthur realized at the same time that his hand was still loosely clasped around Merlin’s wrist. He was standing far too close, close enough that if he just tilted his head just the slightest bit…Merlin was right there, he could smell the gentle soap he had used that morning, see the way his eyes flickered down to Arthur’s lips and back up again…

            Arthur cleared his throat and stepped back, releasing Merlin’s arm. “Right. We should keep going.”

            Merlin nodded, face smoothing, and started walking ahead so that Arthur couldn’t see his expression.

            Arthur let out a shuddery breath and flexed the hand that had held Merlin’s, still feeling warm skin underneath his fingertips. He hadn’t felt that rush of heat in Merlin’s gaze since the night their home had been destroyed.

            He watched Merlin’s profile weave ahead of him, wondering what would have happened that night had Morgana not burst into their— _his_ —room at exactly the wrong time. If Merlin hadn’t had a nightmare that night, and had gotten into his bed just because he wanted to, because Arthur was there.

            “Wait a minute,” Arthur said aloud, as a new thought struck him. “Your nightmares.”

            Merlin didn’t stop. “What about them?”

            “They stopped. While we were with the druids, they stopped.”

            Merlin heaved a sigh. “Yeah, they have very powerful protection spells woven around the entire camp. It was a lovely break, to be honest.”

            “So they’ll come back again. Tonight, probably.”

            “Probably,” Merlin agreed. “Not that I’m looking forward to it. But it’s a fact of life now, I might as well get used to them.”

            “You don’t think they’ll ever go away?”

            “Would they go away for you?” Merlin asked quietly. “If you’d done what I did?”

            “No.”

            “There you are then.”

           Arthur let it go.

            As the oncoming winter foreboded, evening fell quickly. It wasn’t long before they were both sitting on a log in the early dusk, dozing while a fire crackled away. Merlin was mumbling spells under his breath, watching the smoke transform from a dragon to a butterfly to a horse, though no smile crossed his face. Arthur was studying his sword in the firelight.

            “You should put that away,” Merlin said eventually, leaning back on his elbows and staring up at the sky. The last of the images in the smoke vanished.

            “There’s no one around,” Arthur said, running his index finger along the edge of the blade.

            “Is there something wrong with it?” Merlin asked, watching Arthur’s eyebrows draw together.

            “No, not at all, it just feels…restless. Like I’m a stranger to it now. Which I suppose is right, it’s been hiding in our house, collecting dust for ages now. It used to feel like it was part of me, and now—now it’s just a sword. Like I’ve lost its allegiance.”

            Merlin bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

            Arthur looked at him, surprised. “It’s not your fault.”

            “No, I know, it’s just…I can’t imagine what I would do if my magic didn’t feel like it was part of me.”

            Arthur offered a sad little shrug. “I’ll get over it.” He got up, shaking out his leg. “I’ll take first watch, okay?”

            “Are you sure?” Merlin said apprehensively. “It might be better if I go first. You’d at least get to sleep instead of…you know.” Merlin opened his mouth and closed it a couple more times, but nothing came out. His eyes looked strangely flat in the orange light.

            “It’s better if you get some first,” Arthur said, avoiding Merlin’s glance. “If you need to be woken up, at least I’ll get there before you start screaming blue murder.”

            Merlin winced almost imperceptibly. “True enough.”

            “Good night,” Arthur said. He brushed himself off and stood by the edge of their camp, facing towards the road.

            “Good night,” Merlin said softly, and laid down to sleep. He could see Arthur’s profile thrown into sharp relief against the dim light, flickering ever lower.

            Merlin closed his eyes and dreamed.

 

* * *

 

            Uther slammed his hand down on the table, making a cup rattle and fall over. Wine seeped across the cracks in the wood, spilling over the side and onto the floor.

            “Impossible!” he bellowed. “He’s just a boy, how could he possibly escape on his own?”

            “I think you’re forgetting, Father, that he has magic,” Arthur said. “He’s clearly more powerful than either you or I predicted. He took down every single person in the square entirely on his own.”

            Uther was breathing hard, his face an ugly, blotchy red. There was a bandage on his head from when he had hit it on the way down. “I want him found,” he snarled. “I want him found and his throat cut before he gets a chance to do anything else.”

            “Our chances of finding him are slim, as I’m sure you can understand,” Arthur said slowly. “He is a sorcerer, after all. We don’t know what he’s capable of.”

            Uther took the cup and what remained in it and threw it across the hall; it hit the wall and clanged to the ground. “He’s an injured boy! He is nothing, _nothing_ to me!”

            Arthur fought the overwhelming urge to step back, to flinch, to leave. His hands were unnaturally still at his side but his mind was running wild, careening off track, and only a very small part of it was watching his father lose his temper.

            “I’ll send out patrols,” Arthur said mechanically. “We’ll do our best.”

            Uther was pacing now. “I don’t want you to do your best. I want you to find him, Arthur, and fast.”

            “I’ll send out patrols,” Arthur said again. “And we won’t rest until Merlin is brought forward to pay for his crimes.”

            Uther made no reply, and with a short nod in his direction, Arthur left the room.

            The throne-room doors shut behind him and Arthur drew in a deep breath, feeling his lungs inflate for what felt like the first time since he had entered his father’s presence. The tension drained from his body.

            A hand clutched suddenly at his sleeve and Arthur gasped, whirled round, and laid a hand on his sword before realizing it was Gaius.

            “Gaius,” he said in relief. “What on earth is it?”

            “Merlin, sire,” Gaius said urgently. He wore a harried, pinched expression that made Arthur’s intestines turn to lead to see it. “There’s no news of him, none at all?”

            “Er—no,” Arthur said haltingly. He had made up his mind as soon as he’d left Merlin in the cavern not to tell anyone of his location, no matter how painful the physician’s expression was. “We’re sending patrols out, but I’m—uh—doubtful we’ll find him that way.”

            Gaius nodded and fixed a sharp eye on him. “You would tell me, sire? If you’d heard anything at all?”

            “Of course,” Arthur lied. “As soon as we have news of him.”

            “Good,” he said, and as Arthur watched, a look of unimaginable grief crossed his lined face.

            Impulsively, Arthur grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “It’ll be okay, Gaius,” he said, trying to import some sort of assurance in his tone, and perhaps it worked, because Gaius squeezed back.

            “I hope you’re right,” he said, and with that, he turned around and was gone.

 

            “Merlin?” Arthur said in a harsh whisper. His voice echoed around the cavern.           

            “Arthur,” came a weak response from a few feet away, and Arthur nearly wilted with relief.

            “Thank the gods,” he breathed. “The torch went out, I couldn’t—” the torch flared to light in his hand, and Arthur promptly dropped it and cursed.

            “Sorry,” Merlin croaked. “Wanted to see you.”

            “It’s fine, it’s fine, are you—are you okay?”

            Merlin looked haunted in the frail light that the torch was giving off; his face was gaunt and there were purplish bruises under his eyes, and dried blood was smeared over one of his cheeks. There was still rope burn on his wrists, and from the way he was shivering, his thin clothes were offering no protection from the elements.

            “I should have brought a blanket,” Arthur muttered, and shrugged off his long brown coat. “Here. Would you—Merlin, just—oh, would you just take it?” he said with increasing frustration, as Merlin attempted to push it away.

            “Don’t need—”

           “Yes you do,” Arthur said curtly, and wrapped it around Merlin’s shoulders. “I tried to sneak some food out but George got me and asked where I was going, the bastard. Like he has any right to know.”

            “Well, seeing as in this case you’re harbouring a convicted criminal, I think he has a right to be curious,” Merlin said, offering a faint smile.

            “I’m firing him the second I get back. And I’m bringing food in the morning, no matter what you say. I’m only sorry you’ll be going without tonight.”

            Merlin tried to shrug, something that was immensely painful to watch and probably even more so to do. “Doesn’t matter. The way things are going, I’ll be dead inside a week anyway.”

            “Stop talking like that,” Arthur said severely. “In case you’ve forgotten, I decide where the patrols go, and I’ve decided the patrols are not going to get anywhere near you.”

            “It’s not just the patrols, Arthur. How long can I stay down here? How could I get out, even if I could walk more than a few feet at a time? What will Uther do if he finds me even after I’ve gotten out? I don’t see an escape that will stick.”

            “We’ll figure it out,” Arthur said, as calmly as he could manage. “I promise we will.”

            But Merlin was still looking at him with doubtful eyes, so Arthur sighed and sat down next to him, so close their shoulders were brushing and their knees bumped together.

            “Does Gaius—”

            “He doesn’t know,” Arthur said. “He asked about you after I told my father—”

            “I bet that went well,” Merlin muttered.

            Arthur shrugged. “Took it better than I thought he would, actually. He ordered the patrols and demanded that I find you, dented a goblet or two, but didn’t try to take anyone’s head off with his sword. And considering how long you’ve gotten away with this…” he let the thought trail off, watching Merlin’s reaction.

            “You still haven’t told me why,” Merlin said quietly, with the air of someone who had long held back the question he was about to ask.

            “Why what?”

            “You know what. I’m alive because of you. I’m just a servant, a sorcerer. I’ve lied to your face for years, let you think I was simple and stupid, unable to take care of myself.”

“I still think that’s true.”

“And all this time,” Merlin went on, ignoring Arthur, “I’ve been a criminal. The worst kind of criminal. We practically live together, we do everything together, you rely on me to make sure your sword is sharp and your chainmail isn’t rusted through, I get your food, I—I do everything for you! Do you even realize—”

“How much danger I would have been in, had you had different opinions about me?” Arthur smiled wryly. “Trust me, I know.”

“And yet somehow you’ve come to terms with all that in the couple of days since you’ve found out I had magic,” Merlin said disbelievingly.

Arthur rubbed his hand across his face. “I don’t want to talk about this. You’re weak and exhausted and you need—”

“What,” Merlin shot back. “Rest? Is that what you were going to say?”

“Don’t get so worked up. I know for a fact you were beaten half to death before you even made it to the stake.”

Merlin crossed his arms. “You know that for a fact? Who told you that?”

Arthur choked back a mirthless laugh. “I don’t need anyone to tell me that. You have bruises everywhere that are just beginning to heal, beneath the rope burn on your wrists your skin is scraped off because of the chains you were in—and I bet it’s on your ankles too—and I know that if I pulled up your tunic I’d find more than bruises on your back. Not to mention you flinch every time I come near you and you look like you weigh even less than you usually do, meaning you may have gotten water, but you certainly didn’t get food while you were being held in the king’s cells.”

            Merlin snorted. “Seem to know quite a lot about how prisoners are treated.”

            “I can read it on your body like a book,” Arthur said testily.

            “Can you? You’ve never paid so much attention before.”

            “That’s all you know,” Arthur bit out, now so angry he was beginning to see red. This was the effect Merlin had on him, had always had, this uncanny ability to read whatever Arthur was truly upset about and poke at it with a stick.

            Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Oh? You mean if I wasn’t sitting here with power you could never conceive of and was just your lowly servant, you’d still care this much?”

            Arthur took a deep breath, trying to reign himself in. “If I just said yes, would you believe me?”

            “No.”

            “Of course not,” Arthur mumbled. “Fine. Whatever. I’m not going to explain myself to you.”

            “Can I be left alone to sleep now?” Merlin said pointedly. “Because that’s what you wanted in the first place?”

            “No. A patrol is coming close in twenty minutes, should they decide to get a little curious, I’d rather risk looking like a fool down here alone than them finding you.”

            Merlin huffed and Arthur saw him roll his eyes in the glint of the light, and the expression was so endearingly familiar that suddenly he was stifling a smile.

            “I’m sorry you have to put up with the guy who saved your neck and is, at this moment, risking his own, Merlin,” Arthur said haughtily.

            Merlin said nothing, only drew Arthur’s coat tighter around his shoulders and stared ahead.

            “I’ll only stay down here a few minutes,” Arthur said, dropping the smirk and rolling his eyes. “Honestly. Relax.”

            “Fine,” Merlin muttered.

            For a moment the silence stretched on, broken only by the crackling of the torch that still lay on the ground. Arthur shifted uncomfortably; the ground was hard and the uneven cavern walls were poking into his back. In contrast Merlin was sitting as still as he could manage, but even the overlarge coat hanging around his shoulders wasn’t enough to disguise his shivering.

            “You’re still cold,” Arthur said softly.

            “I’ve had it worse.”

            Arthur hesitated, then slowly put his arm around Merlin. He watched Merlin’s eyes widen in the light, the hidden flinch he tried to suppress, and regret swept through Arthur like a tide. Without thinking about it, he pressed his face to Merlin’s hair.

            “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through,” he whispered. Beneath the scent of dirt and blood and water was still Merlin, his warmth, his curling hair, his skin. Arthur tightened his grip on him. “You aren’t ever going back. I promise you won’t go back.”

            Merlin laid his head on Arthur’s shoulder, making a delicious shock run through Arthur’s body as though he’d been burned, and he barely repressed a smile. Their legs leaned together, and carefully Arthur reached forward and pulled Merlin closer, erasing what little space between them they had, and to his surprise, Merlin went easily.

            “Please don’t make promises to me,” Merlin said, and Arthur’s smile faltered.

            Together they listened to low conversation and the sound of boots crunching against the cobblestones as the patrol marched past, but Merlin did not tell him to go, so Arthur made no move to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience, the last couple months have been difficult, but since we're all under quarantine, more is coming a lot sooner than usual haha. Thank you all so much for your comments! You wouldn't believe what a difference it makes!


	15. Cariad

Merlin woke to a gentle hand on his shoulder in the dark. He blinked fuzzily up at a pale smear, which came slowly into focus.

            “Your turn for watch, Merlin,” Arthur said, and immediately flung himself on the ground, letting out a grunt when his head hit what passed for a pillow.

            Merlin staggered to his feet and over to the stump where Arthur had been sitting, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. There was a silvery glint lying propped next to a fallen tree near him. Arthur’s sword, Merlin recognized with vague surprise. Strange for him not to sleep with it.

            The hours passed sluggishly in a haze of darkness. Black shapes loomed out of the sky only to be silhouettes of trees, and the rustling twigs meant rabbits were passing by. A flutter in the trees made Merlin look up with a start and raise light to it, only to see an owl staring crossly down at him.

            He was sitting on the ground, dozing against the stump when a sharp crack made him jerk his head up.

            _“Liote,”_ Merlin murmured, and a sphere of white light began to glow in his hand. He searched the darkness, but even with the light, he saw nothing but trees and sullen creatures trying to sleep. He frowned, pulled his arm back and mimicked a throwing motion, saying, _“mena liote,”_ under his breath, and watched as the ball of light sailed through the trees to hover at the edge of his vision, lighting up an entire clearing.

            “Merlin,” Arthur slurred, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Could you perhaps put that out before I kill the most powerful sorcerer on earth with a rock?”

            “I heard something,” Merlin said. “There’s something out there, I’m sure of it.”

            Arthur heaved a sigh and sat up, blinking into the light. “What, did you recreate the sun or something? Can’t you—I don’t know, turn it down?”

            Merlin threw an annoyed glance behind him. “I’m telling you someone is watching us, and your response is to ask me to turn the light out so you can sleep? Should I do that, then, and wake up to your bloodied corpse in the morning?”

            “Maybe then I’d get some rest.”

            Merlin turned around. “You really are a—”

            “ _Honestly_ ,” came an unknown voice from behind them, Arthur gasped and stumbled back towards Merlin, who caught his wrist with a tight hold, “even listening to you argue is boring. You’d think the red-hot sexual tension might dilute it a bit—”

            “Morgana!” Arthur shouted and tried to walk forward, only Merlin’s death-grip on his arm stopped him.

            “Show yourself!” Merlin yelled and stood up. His hand slid down to Arthur’s.

            She came into the light slowly, her eyes laughing, her mouth stretched in a childish grin. Morgana was dressed for travelling in a heavy cloak and boots, clearly druid-made.

            “Sorry…I couldn’t resist.” Morgana’s eyes flickered down to where their hands were entwined, and Merlin flushed but didn’t pull away.

            “What are you doing here?” Arthur demanded. “We told you to stay where you were, I thought you didn’t want to leave Héloise?”

            Morgana shrugged. “I didn’t.”

            The young woman Arthur had seen in the camp they had left less than a day ago came shyly into the clearing, bright, golden eyes moving curiously over him and Merlin.

            “My apologies,” she said in a high, musical voice, cocking her head to the side. “I didn’t want her to go alone. She was quite stubborn.”

            Héloise stood on the balls of her feet, like she was about to break gracefully into dance at any moment and her hair curled in fluid tendrils down her back. She did not wear boots and a cloak like Morgana did, but rather a light tunic and shoes, and she didn’t wear any weapons that Arthur could see.

            “I cannot quite say you are welcome,” Merlin said carefully. “We are travelling alone, as I’m sure you are well aware.”

            Héloise smiled; the effect was like early morning light on sweet grass. “I told Morgana this many times, but she was determined to follow you. She seemed to worry about your wellbeing, although I think with Emrys by your side, Arthur Pendragon, nothing could hurt you even if they wanted to.”

            “Many have tried,” Arthur said.

            “Someone just _did_ ,” Morgana injected, stepping forward. “And they nearly killed all three of us. It’s true I was not going to let you go alone, but Héloise can help us.”

            ‘It’s us now, is it?” Arthur said. “Neither of us want you here.”

            “I’m here now,” Morgana said. “I’m not leaving. And Héloise is staying with me.”

            “Fine,” Merlin said quietly. Arthur looked at him, aghast.

            A real smile was on Morgana’s lips now.

            “Thank you, Emrys,” Héloise said.

            “No—wait a minute, you said you didn’t want anyone else with us!” Arthur accused, whirling on Merlin.

            “Yeah, I know, but they’re here now,” Merlin said in a hopeless sort of way. “They’re going to follow us either way, unless you want to tie them up and leave them here. Which we’re _not_ doing,” he added at the look on Arthur’s face.

            “And we can help you,” Morgana said eagerly. “Obviously I’m better with a sword than Merlin here will ever be, and Héloise has magic—”

            “Not much, I’m sorry to say,” Héloise said. “But I can help with finding food, and perhaps making it easier to sleep.” She leaned down and put her hand to the ground for a moment.

            “ _Mwsogl,”_ she whispered, and to Arthur’s amazement, thick, soft moss began to grow under her fingers. It spread rapidly until it covered the roots and the bumps in the ground and grew over the space Merlin had illuminated.

            “Wow,” Arthur said, blinking in surprise. “How come you never do that, huh?” he said, nudging Merlin.

            A bright smile was curling around his lips. “I haven’t had a lifetime to study the elements,” Merlin said. “But you do it beautifully, Héloise. You have a gift for gentle magic.”

            “Thank you, Emrys,” she said, dropping her head in a grave nod. Morgana beside her was wearing a grin far too smug for Arthur’s liking.

            “You don’t need to call me Emrys,” Merlin said with a vague sense of distaste in his tone. “Merlin is fine.”

            Héloise’s eyes widened, but Morgana laughed. “Really, Héloise, it’s fine. If you call him Emrys for much longer he may combust into humiliated flames. Doesn’t know what to do with respect, which is strange, considering he’s been serving a prince for years.”

            “Where do you think I learned the lack of respect,” Merlin muttered. Arthur squeezed his hand in retaliation, and Merlin jumped.

            “You had a distinct lack of respect from the moment I met you, if I remember right,” Arthur said. “Wasn’t anything to do with me, it was your country upbringing.”

            “So, considering it’s the middle of the night, might we sleep now?” Morgana suggested. “I know you two lovebirds would be happy to—”

            “Quit calling us that,” Arthur snapped, stepping away from Merlin. “I’m tired of hearing it and I know Merlin is too.”

            “Fine,” she said, waving her hands. “Whatever. My point is, can we sleep?”

            “I’m going to sleep, Merlin’s going to sleep, and Héloise is going to sleep, but you’re staying up for watch,” Arthur said. “Since you saw fit to terrify us both for no reason.”

            Morgana shrugged. “Fine with me,” she said, and walked towards the lookout spot without another word. Arthur watched her go, eyes wide.

            “I don’t think I’ve ever told her to do something and have her actually do it,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

            “She’s happy to be here,” Merlin said, smiling. “But we do need to sleep. It’s only a few hours until dawn, and I’d like to take advantage of the extra hours she’s given us.”

            As it turned out, the moss Héloise had grown was extraordinarily soft, and it was only a few moments after Arthur laid his head down that heavy waves of sleep were lapping at him.

            He woke in the early dawn automatically, one of the many consequences of having been trained as a warrior from an early age. Héloise was now keeping lookout, her ramrod straight posture facing away from Arthur. Leaning against her legs, deeply asleep, was Morgana. From the looks of it, Héloise appeared to be braiding her hair. Merlin was only a few feet away from Arthur, hand stretched out, eyelids fluttering in dreams. Arthur swallowed hard, trying to ignore the curve of his lips, the movement of bone under skin, supple fingertips resting lightly on green grass.

            “Hey,” he whispered, rolling over and shaking Merlin awake. “C’mon, time to get up.”

            “Mmf,” Merlin mumbled into the grass.

            “Sorry, but we have to go.”

            “ _Cariad_ ,” Merlin breathed, “why do you wake me up so early?”

            Arthur’s hand stopped, and instantly he was flung back in time, back to the first time Merlin had called him that. “ _Cariad,_ ” he repeated. His hand squeezed Merlin’s hip. “Merlin, what does that mean?”

            But Merlin only grumbled and pushed him away, hugging his cloak tighter to him. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Héloise whip back to face the forest. His eyes narrowed.

            Arthur got up and brushed himself off, walking towards Héloise until he was standing in front of her.

            “You know what he said,” he said flatly, without so much as a ‘good morning’. Morgana jerked awake, frowning up at him with bleary eyes.

            Héloise smiled distantly at him. “I do, prince.”

            “Tell me what it means. He’s called me this before and refused to explain it.”

            “So I would imagine,” she answered. “But it isn’t my secret to tell.”

            “Of course it isn’t,” Arthur said, annoyed now. “Can’t you give me a hint or something?”

            Héloise shook her head. “He will tell you, I think. When he is ready.”

            “Great,” Arthur said with a huff. “That’s just great.”

            “I think you should wake him up,” she said unnecessarily. “I doubt there is anyone he would rather do it.”

            “Fine,” Arthur said crossly, and without looking, threw a rock behind him. There was a muffled thump, an indistinguishable shout, and then Merlin was getting up. Arthur gave Héloise a tight smile.

            “No need for that,” Merlin said irritably, shuffling over with a blanket wrapped around him. “We’re leaving already? We’re gonna need breakfast.”

 

            The sun was just beginning to rise over the trees by the time all four of them were packed up and ready to leave when Merlin spoke.

            “We can’t leave this moss here,” he said at the last minute, looking back.

            “Why not?” Morgana asked.

            “It’s a perfect circle, and it’s bright green in winter. It’s not natural. If anyone’s following us, they’ll know we were here.”

            “Héloise?” Morgana said, looking at her.

            “It’s fine,” Merlin said. “I’ll do it. Something tells me Héloise has more of a gift for creating than destroying.” He smiled and Héloise returned it, the tension that had stiffened her shoulders vanishing.

            He leaned down and pressed his hand against the grass. He said nothing, Arthur noticed, unless it was too fast for him to see, but when he glanced at the ground he found the moss crumbling in on itself, turning to dust and blowing in a wind that Arthur assumed Merlin had conjured.

            “Wow,” Arthur said in mild surprise. “That was fast.”

            Merlin straightened up, and when he spoke, there was an unusual bitterness in his voice. “Yes,” he said. “As we all know, I’m much better at destroying things than creating them.”

* * *

            “This is good,” Merlin said around a mouthful of ham and cheese. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten this well in my life.”

            Arthur grinned. “Don’t pretend you didn’t steal food from my plate when I wasn’t looking.”

            Merlin swallowed with an enormous effort, nodding enthusiastically. “I did. But it wasn’t for me, it was for someone else. And sometimes I’d eat the scraps when you were finished, but still.”

            He was already putting a handful of berries in his mouth when Arthur leaned forward and caught his hand. “Slow down, wouldn’t you?” Arthur admonished. “You’re going to kill yourself at the rate you’re going.”

            Merlin shrugged, chewing loudly. “Then I guess I’ll do your father a favour.”

            “Don’t talk like that. Did you really eat the scraps when I was finished?”

            “Yeah.”

            Arthur sat back, a wave of guilt washing over him. “I’m sorry.”

            Merlin looked at him, surprised. “For what?”

            “You could’ve had a better life pretty much anywhere else in the world. Instead you come here, to the centre of your people’s genocide…you eat scraps off my plate, you work all the time, and all the while you’ve got to hide who you really are or my father’ll chop your head off.”

            Merlin smiled reminiscently. “I said something like that to Gaius once. A lot louder, and considerably angrier. But I do it for you. To keep you alive. That’s my whole purpose, the whole reason I have magic.”

            “You said on the stake,” Arthur said slowly, “you said your path leads only to me. What does that mean?”

            “Just what I said. I came to Camelot and was told of a destiny that involved the both of us, that it couldn’t be done without you. Or me, for that matter,” Merlin added, now ripping off a hunk of bread with his teeth. “Did you bring any honey or butter or anything?”

            “No,” Arthur said distractedly. “I still don’t understand what you mean. What destiny?”

            Merlin rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. You the king of Camelot, me your loyal servant. Together we’re supposed to unite the land of Albion and bring the Old Religion or some form of it back to the kingdom. Bring together magic and rule, but Pendragons have an extraordinary record with magic from where I’m sitting. Kind of hard to bring magic back when my eyeballs would be spooned out of my sockets if I so much as lit a candle by accident.”

            Arthur sat back. “Who told you all this?”

            “Dragon beneath the castle. Riddling old bastard.”

            “The _what_? He was talking to you?”

            Merlin stared at Arthur, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Well, yeah. Before he--er--got out, he was helping me—sort of—and he told me that you and I were two sides of the same coin. Bound together or something.”

            “You…and me.”

            “You needn’t look quite so shocked,” Merlin said, raising his eyebrows. “I realize I don’t look like much now—”

            “You never look like much,” Arthur said, getting to his feet dizzily. “Listen, I’ve got, uh—get bandages or something. Something from Gaius. You’ll bleed to death if we’re not careful.”

            Merlin paused, stunned. “Arthur,” he called, but he was already gone, stumbling up the stairs.

 

            “Gaius!” Arthur said, bursting into his chambers. Gaius looked up from his workbench.

            “Sire. What a pleasant surprise.”

            “The dragon beneath the castle, the one that escaped,” Arthur said breathlessly. “Did it know something about me?"

            “ _He_ , Arthur, a dragon may be a creature of magic, but he deserves our respect. I can’t imagine what he would know about you. You were still very young when he was captured, and I don’t see why he would have any interest in an heir of Uther’s.”

            “Not even to kill me?” Arthur asked, heart beating fast.

            “To kill you?” Gaius repeated, disconcerted. “No, certainly not. If the dragon did have thoughts of revenge, those would be directed towards your father, I’m afraid. The reason why he took such pains to destroy Camelot, I'm afraid. A dragon lives for longer than a thousand years. An imprisonment such as that was terrible, to be sure, but he was wise."

            “Merlin knew about him.”

            Gaius wavered and his face schooled into a cool mask. “Merlin knowing about the dragon? I very much doubt that, sire. Whenever he wasn’t here with me he was working for you. I doubt he would have had time to find—”

            Arthur took a step forward. “Don’t lie to me, Gaius,” he hissed. “I know he knew, I know I’ve got some sort of insane destiny involving Merlin and Camelot and magic, so quit lying and tell me what you know.”

            Gaius reached forward and gripped Arthur’s arm with more strength than Arthur thought he had. “You have him,” Gaius said, his face paling. “You have Merlin. Is he safe?”

            Arthur ripped his arm out of Gaius’s hand. “Yes he’s safe, no goddamn thanks to you,” he snarled. But Gaius took no notice of his anger.

            “You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” Gaius said, speaking quickly. “Merlin is not just a sorcerer.”

            “I know that!” Arthur shouted. “Somehow I figured it out after he knocked the whole kingdom unconscious!”

            Abruptly the door slammed open behind them, and Arthur swivelled around to see Leon standing awkwardly at the entrance.

            “What?” Arthur barked. Leon lowered his head respectfully.

            “My apologies sire. The king wants to see you.”

            “I’ll come soon.”

            “Er—if I may, sire, he was quite insistent.”

            Arthur bit back another retort with a massive effort. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let’s go.” He threw a look back at Gaius to make it clear that this conversation was not over, but Gaius made no response.

            He muttered under his breath the whole way to the throne room, taking no notice of Leon striding along beside him.

            “Well?” Arthur said, banging into the throne room. “What was so damn important it couldn’t wait for me to finish a conversation with Gaius?”

            “Arthur,” Uther said. “We’ve been looking for you for some time. Where have you been?”

            “Like I said, talking with Gaius.”

            “And before that?”

            “I’ve not felt well these past few days, I find walking helps,” Arthur said, lying without a shred of remorse. “Which is why, you can imagine, I was talking to the court physician in the first place.”

            “Well starting now, you will have a lot more time to take these constitutional walks you seem to so love lately.”

            Arthur blinked. “What does that mean? Sire,” he tacked on as an afterthought.

          “I am hereby relieving you of some of your duties as prince. For now this includes training the knights of Camelot, organizing patrol, and going on patrol.”

            “What?” Arthur said, aghast. “Why?”

            “You have so far failed in your duty to retrieve the sorcerer that so ably slipped away from us,” Uther said coldly. “I will be taking over the duty of organizing patrol, seeing as these rounds around the lower town are clearly making no difference, and Sir Leon will train the knights. You have been distracted lately. I think it would be good for you to take some time to yourself.”

            “But—Father!” Arthur protested, but Uther held up his hand.

            “I don’t want to hear any more, Arthur. Patrols will be changing tonight, and I want you to leave it alone. Retire for the night. It’s clear you need rest.”

 

            The torch had burned out hours ago and Merlin lay drowsing in the dark, tracing meaningless, invisible designs in the dirt. Water rippled calmly in the small pool at the corner of Merlin’s vision. He was now so well adjusted to the lack of light he could almost see the glints on the water.

            A clatter came from above him, and Merlin paused. Then the distinct sound of footsteps, and he sat up straight. Solid dread dropped like lead into the pit of his stomach. It couldn’t possibly be Arthur. He wouldn’t be back until the morning at the earliest. But the footsteps were coming closer, and Merlin could see the glow of a torch around the corner.

            He scrambled to his feet and looked around desperately. It was a clear, wide-open cavern, the second someone came down they would see him…there was nowhere to hide.

            The light was brighter now, a shadow was just about to round the corner, and without a second thought, Merlin lurched towards the pool and jumped in.

            The water was a massive shock to his system, bitter cold seeping into his bones and freezing his blood. Merlin had never been an incredible swimmer even before he had come to Camelot, and it was a struggle to keep his body from floating to the top. His lungs were already straining to expand, he couldn’t have been in for more than a few seconds, if they saw the ripples, he was done for.

            His fingers were numb now. The air just above the water was tantalizing, taunting him with how close it was, how easy it would be to break the surface and breathe in cold lungfuls of fresh air. Every cell in his body was screaming for it now, he had to come up, he had to, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t get caught if Arthur found him dead in the morning anyway, he had to come up for air—

            And then there was a great pain at the top of his head and Merlin was being dragged out of the water, coughing and gagging and eyes streaming.

            “What the _hell_ were you thinking?” said a familiar voice and Merlin turned over on his hands and knees, vomiting water and bile until his throat felt scraped raw. He collapsed on his back, sucking in air, and saw Arthur’s astonished face above him.

            “Sorry,” he croaked. “Thought you were—someone else.”

            “It’s fine, come here—” and Arthur was pulling him up to a sitting position with remarkably gentle hands. “You need to stop doing stupid things.”

            “Wasn’t stupid,” Merlin said, quivering violently. “I thought you were a patrol. Or worse.”

            “About that,” Arthur said. “We have to go.”

            Merlin blinked up at him. “Go? Go where?”

            “Somewhere where we can hide you better.”

            “Like where?” Merlin said, straining to sit up straight. “A coffin? Are we going to bury me alive?”

            “Of course not,” Arthur said, but his voice was tense. “Fa—the king took away some of my responsibilities today. I no longer decide where the patrols go, he does. And he’ll make sure to check every nook and cranny where you could be hiding. And a place with clean running water, hidden well, this will be one of the first places he checks.”

            “So—where, then?”

            “I have an idea,” Arthur said, and flung a cloak at Merlin. “Put this on. Can you walk?”

            “Yes, I can walk,” Merlin said irritably. “I’ll get it wet though.”

            “I don’t care. Come on, put it on—” Arthur wrapped the cloak securely around Merlin’s shoulders and drew the hood up over his face. “I don’t suppose you can turn invisible or anything like that?”

            “Unfortunately, that’s not a skill I’ve learned.”

            “Never mind,” Arthur said, seeming to miss the undercurrent of sarcasm in Merlin’s voice. “Patrols are coming out in a few minutes, it was all I could do to get away as early as I did. We have to go now if we’re going to make it.”

            “Won’t they recognize you?”

            “If they do, I’ll make sure it’ll never get back to Uther,” Arthur said with unusual venom. “Let’s go.”

            He pulled Merlin up the stairs and onto the slick street; it had been raining earlier in the day. Merlin drew in a deep breath, ignoring the goose bumps that raised on his damp skin from the chill.

            Arthur was striding ahead, eyes flicking from corner to corner looking for hidden red cloaks, the flash of chainmail, the gold stitching of the Pendragon crest. But the streets were bare even for the late evening.

            “Arthur,” Merlin said, drawing in a rattling breath, clutching his ribs. “You’ve got to slow down.”

            Arthur glanced back for half a second and halted. “Do you want me to carry you?”

            “No!” Merlin sputtered. “I just want you to slow down!”

            “I’m carrying you,” Arthur decided. “You can pass for a woman better if no one can tell how tall you are, and we’ll go faster anyway.”

            Merlin stumbled back so fast he thought he’d trip. “You are _not_ picking me up.”

            “This is not the time to develop sensitivity, Merlin,” Arthur said, and reaching forward pulled him into his arms. For an extraordinary moment Merlin felt warm, warm and solid, like his feet were properly planted on the ground for the first time in a long time. And then Arthur was catching him up under his knees and heaving him upwards while Merlin stammered incomprehensible protests.

            “There,” Arthur said without a hint of strain in his voice. “Draw the hood over your face and we’ll pass through fine.”

            “Woah,” Merlin said, and waved his hand over his face. “I’m dizzy.”

            “As long as you don’t throw up on me we’re good,” Arthur said. He hoisted him up further into his arms, but took only a bare few more steps before freezing on the street. The familiar sound of boots trudging on the cobblestones was too close for comfort, and Arthur sucked in a sharp breath.

            “What is it?” Why aren’t we moving?”

            “Patrol just came around the corner,” Arthur hissed. “Don’t m—”

            “Prince Arthur!” called an unknown man, and Arthur immediately pasted a smile on his face.

            “Lionel!”

            “What are you doing out this late?”

            Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Are you questioning my movements, Sir Lionel?”

            Lionel hesitated. “Of course not, sire, we were told…”

            “Told what?”

            “That you had retired for the night.”

            “I went down to the tavern,” Arthur said as brusquely as he dared. He could Merlin’s quick little pants beneath the cloak and clutched him tighter, silently begging him to be still.

            “Right,” Lionel said, and then his gaze shifted down to the apparent lifeless lump Arthur was carrying. He nodded at it. “Who’s the poor sod?”

            Arthur’s mouth went dry. “He’s—er—he’s just had too much to drink,” he offered lamely. “His wife’s worried.”

            Lionel nodded. “Better take him back quick then. The king’s curfew is being enforced starting tomorrow night, and allowances won’t be made.”

            “Of course. And Lionel—do me a favour. I’d rather my father didn’t know about tonight.”

            A brief smile crossed the man’s face. “Of course, sire. Have a good night.”

            The patrol passed without further incident, and by the time the streets had grown dark and quiet again, Arthur’s legs were shaking.

            “We’re safe?” came a small voice, muffled by the cloak.

            “Not yet,” Arthur said, hoping Merlin couldn’t hear the tremor in his voice. “Not until you’re out of sight again.”

            Merlin was silent until Arthur dropped him in a heap of clothing in a dark alcove, positively trembling with relief. He sank next to Merlin with a low groan and wiped his face.

            “You can come out,” Arthur said. “If someone finds you down here, I’ll be shocked.”

            “And I’ll be dead,” Merlin said wryly, pulling the hood off his head. He blinked into the darkness. “Where are we?”

            “Don’t really know, to be honest. It’s a little space below the—”

            “By the tavern,” Merlin said softly. “Go down the stairs, take a left, and you’ll reach a dozen underground corridors exactly like this one. A dozen places to hide. Or to die. _Bael on byrne_ ,” he said abruptly, and a light flared to life just above them, floating without a source.

            Arthur flinched, but Merlin seemed not to notice. A wistful expression was twisting his lips and there was some foreign sadness in his eyes, some deep well Arthur couldn’t get to.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing, _cariad_ ,” Merlin whispered. “Thank you for taking me here.”

            _“Cariad?”_ Arthur repeated. “What does that mean?”

            “Nothing. You’d better go. Your father will catch you out here if you’re not careful.”

            Arthur, seeing the truth in Merlin’s words, soon left. But even while he stared at the ceiling in his own bed, thinking of Merlin in the pitch dark, the word drifted across his mind.

            _Cariad._


	16. To Live for Yourself

Arthur glowered ahead at the pair winding through the trees together, speaking in low, soft tones.

            “You know, I don’t understand what they have to talk about,” Arthur said irritably. “They hadn’t met before a week ago.”

            Morgana favoured him with a slight smile. “You can’t? When has Merlin ever had this kind of insight on magic, been able to speak with someone else who’s also had it all her life? He’s only ever been able to talk to Gaius or his mother, neither of whom can understand what it’s like to have what he has. And as for Héloise…Merlin isn’t just a sorcerer to her, nor to any of the druids. He’s someone who can do things as easily as breathing, things it takes the rest of them years to learn. Some of them are a little wary because of his time spent in Camelot, but she isn’t. And it’s okay if he talks to someone other than you.”

            “I know that!” Arthur protested. “That’s not my issue. It’s just that—that—”

            “That you’re jealous?” Morgana put in.

            Arthur scowled. “I’m _not_.”

            “Of course you are,” Morgana said reasonably. “You’ve had Merlin to yourself for years. He’s been the only person you’ve been close to for forever, and vice versa. You live together, and even before that, you were glued to each other’s hips in Camelot. Now suddenly he’s talking and confiding in someone else? It’s okay if you feel protective.”

            “I wish you’d leave us alone,” Arthur said, in a very different voice than Morgana was used to. “You didn’t live with us, you didn’t go through what we did, and you haven’t worked the way we have. You ran away and found a camp of druids who took you in. We found no one. We _had_ no one, nothing, so of course we learned how to depend on each other. You would too if you had a traumatized, injured warlock screaming in his sleep every night, and you suddenly had a whole new life that you were utterly unprepa—”

            “Okay,” Morgana said gently. “Okay, I get it. I’ll stop.”

            “Thank you,” Arthur said, relieved.

            “Arthur!” Merlin called, and Arthur, brightening, jogged to catch up.

            “How long do you think until we get to Camelot?”

            “Oh,” Arthur said, face falling slightly. “Maybe another day. We should reach the borders early tomorrow morning if we keep going the same pace. And we shouldn’t stop long tonight.”

            “And after that…what are we going to do? How do we get the former crown prince, the king’s ward, a druid, and a convicted sorcerer into the city?” Morgana, who had caught up, asked doubtfully.

            “Easy,” Merlin said before Arthur could reply. “We walk through the gates in broad daylight.”

            Arthur halted. “Excuse me?”

            “Think about it,” Merlin said eagerly. His skin had a brilliant flush on it and there was a pale glitter in his eye. He seemed to be brimming with untold energy, the kind that made Arthur want to hold him back to keep from doing anything rash. “Arthur goes in with me, claiming that I’ve had him under a spell this whole time. Guards take me down to the cells to wait for execution but Arthur is led up to Uther’s chambers. Obviously he comes up with a bunch of lies to placate Uther for the time being, but that night you two sneak in—in the uproar no one’s going to be watching the borders properly—and then Arthur lets me out, and takes me up to heal the king.”

            Arthur stared at him, aghast. “Are you— _mad_?” he asked, having finally found his voice amid the stunned silence. “There’s a thousand reasons that won’t work.”

            “Well yeah,” Merlin said imperturbably. “But it’s the best idea we’ve got. Granted, you’ve never been a good liar—”

            “If I wasn’t, you’d be dead,” Arthur growled.

            “But,” Merlin said, steamrollering on as though he hadn’t heard him, “Uther is sick, probably delirious. And there won’t be enough time for Arthur to say much except that I’m at fault.”

            Arthur strung a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “If I say all that and drag you up to him, he’ll be terrified!”

            “Good,” Merlin said flatly. “We’ll put him right after he’s better, but before anything happens it doesn’t matter.”

 

            The night was especially heavy after the sun had gone down. No stars showed themselves under heavy cloud, and the only light came from a sputtering fire around which two figures sat.

            “You need to do something about him,” Morgana said in a low voice, eyes flickering to where Merlin lay asleep.

            Arthur snorted and poked at the fire, making it cough up more sparks. “I know, but what? Tie him up and leave him here until we’re safe again?”

            “I mean how he feels about you.”

            Arthur groaned. “Morgana, not—”

            “No, not that. Arthur, he would do anything to keep you alive. Anything at all, no matter the price. Don’t you see how dangerous that is?”

            Arthur blinked. “Er—forgive me, but I fail to see the downside. You don’t want me alive? Is that it?”

           “Of course not, you absolute—” Morgana caught herself and leaned back, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, the emotion in them was careful. “You need to make sure he doesn’t go too far. If he thought it would help you, he’d hang himself here and now.”

            “Please, don’t—” Arthur said in a light tone, until Morgana laid a hand on his own. Her serious gaze followed his.

           “You have to understand,” she said, an unimaginable magnitude behind her quiet words. “You have to understand what I’m saying and not dismiss it, please, Arthur. He lives only for you. He sees no worth in his own life except for the purpose of protecting yours. It is not hyperbole when I say his universe revolves around you. He doesn’t care about himself, he will do _anything_ for you, and you are the only one he will listen to if you tell him it’s wrong. You have to tell him to live for himself as well as you. Even without you, you’d want him to be alive, right? You’d still want him to exist?”

            “I—of course I would!’ Arthur said, his voice rising too fast not to be panicky. “I don’t think I—I don’t know if I could—”

            “Live without him,” Morgana finished for him. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make. He can’t be alive just for you. If something happens to you, ever, I don’t think he will survive a week past it, because he won’t want to. Apart from you, he should want to be alive. Not to be alive as your friend or your protector or anything else that has the words ‘Arthur Pendragon’ in it. To live for himself.”

            “I—I don’t understand,” Arthur said, struggling to absorb the meaning of what she was saying. “If I had died any of the times I was supposed to…he wouldn’t be alive either?”

            “I don’t think so,” Morgana said softly. “I think destiny has weighed on him for too long. And more than that—I know you don’t want me to say it. He’s in love with you, Arthur.”

            Arthur jerked back automatically at the words, feeling as though he had just fallen from a great height and his lungs were stubbornly refusing to take in air. “No—no he’s not, he’s just…”

            “He is in love with you,” Morgana repeated ruthlessly. “His eyes follow you everywhere. He smiles practically every time you take a breath, every time your heart beats again, like he wasn’t expecting it. He treats you like a miracle he’s not sure he should believe in. That boy loves you too much, and it will follow him to his grave if you end up in the ground first. I don’t think anybody in the world could stop Emrys from doing what he liked if he had a mind to.”

            “No,” Arthur said blindly. “I can’t let him die. Morgana, you have to stop him, please don’t let him die, whatever happens to me, don’t let him do anything stupid, don’t let him die—”

            “Shhh,” Morgana said in a whisper, pulling Arthur close and rubbing soothing circles over his back as he trembled and drew his knees shakily to his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you think like that, I’m sorry. Of course if anything happens to you I’ll look after him. I’m just asking that you take him aside and try to get that notion out of his head.”

            Arthur nodded, hands clutching convulsively at his sleeves. “I—I will, he just—I don’t want him to—” and then came a great wracking sob that scared Morgana more than the tears.

            “Calm down,” she said, trying to disguise her fear. “Don’t wake them up.”

            Arthur nodded again and sat up, hands still quivering. “Sorry,” he said unevenly. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

            Morgana shook her head. “You should sleep,” she suggested. “You can sleep by him, I know you want to. Just don’t forget what I said. And don’t scare Merlin like you did me,” she added, smiling wanly.

            Arthur got up slowly, and at the last moment, turned back to her. “What you said…about him being—in love with me,” he said, mouth shaping around the words with some difficulty, like they had edges that would cut him if he wasn’t careful. “You really think he is?”

An odd, wistful smile crossed her lips. “I knew he loved you when I first saw you two together. He was a strange little country boy, what with the ridiculous clothes he wore and the way he stumbled after you, trying to keep all his tasks straight in his head. I’d never seen you laugh the way you did with him. And I saw his smile after he made you laugh. And then months passed, and he was still there. You risked your own life to save his after knowing him for only a few weeks, you went to Ealdor for the sole reason of making sure he’d come back with you, you brought him on hunts and raids on the pretence you needed him, but you protected him whenever you did. I thought I had never seen fear like his when your head was lying in his lap while you faded away from that creature’s bite, until I saw you after he got sick. Until he went up on that stake.”

            “You’re telling me about me, not about him. I want to know if you think he loves me.”

            “Yes,” Morgana said, lying back and closing her eyes. “I suppose you did, didn’t you?”

 

* * *

 

            “Her name was Freya,” Merlin murmured.

            “Mm,” Arthur hummed distractedly. He was far more preoccupied with the dark, curly head lying in his lap than what it was saying.

            “She was in a bounty hunter’s cage when I met her, and I got her out. She was terrified. Once I stepped forward to hand her my jacket, and she flinched. Like she expected me to hit her. I never really found out what happened to her. She didn’t want to talk about it. But she’d had a hard life.”

            “What happened to her?” Arthur asked softly. His fingers were sliding through Merlin’s hair, and he could hear a little shudder in his breath.

            “She died,” Merlin whispered. “You killed her.”

            Arthur’s hand stopped. “I—what?”

            “She was cursed. When night came, she turned into a horrible creature, her mind cracked open and it wasn’t hers anymore. The creature killed people.”

            “She did, you mean.”

            “No, I don’t,” Merlin said with an edge in his voice. “I meant what I said. Anyway, we planned to run away together.”

            “You did?” Arthur said, surprised.

            “Yes, we did,” Merlin said. “We wanted to live somewhere with a lake…fields…a couple of cows…”

            “Touching,” Arthur observed.

            “She told me she’d wait for me. But she didn’t. She turned into—that thing again, and you caught her side with a spear. She bled out on the shore by the lake, and I put her in a boat and pushed it off. I set it on fire.”

            “You gave her a burial,” Arthur said softly. “I’m sorry.”

            Merlin gave a sad little shrug. “She said I made her feel loved.”

            “Still, I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t killed her. I wish I’d known about you.”

            “You mean you wish I’d trusted you enough to tell you the truth,” Merlin interpreted.

            “Doesn’t matter,” Arthur said with a sigh, and leaned back against the wall, which, though quite rough, felt better than his own bed at the moment. There was sand and sawdust on the ground and he watched Merlin make curling patterns in it, tracing meaningless, pretty things in the dirt. He was extraordinarily warm lying in Arthur’s legs, and his skin was strangely soft on Arthur’s fingers beneath the various cuts and scrapes and scars.

            “You should sleep, Merlin,” Arthur said quietly.

            “You should go,” Merlin said, turning his head to blink owlishly up at him. There was a fuzziness of long exhaustion in his eyes and the circles under them. “You’ve stayed too long already.”

            “I’ll go in a bit. You shouldn’t be down here alone all the time.”

            “Hasn’t Gaius asked where I am?”

            “He has,” Arthur said, biting his lip at the memory. “Many times. But I haven’t told him where you are, and I don’t intend to. Of anyone, he is the most likely to have Uther set someone to follow him. If he finds out where you are he won’t be able to stop himself, and before we know it you’re back on the stake. And this time without the strength to get out of it. And besides,” he said, taking a deep breath to steel himself for what he had to say, “you’re leaving soon.”

            Merlin sat up, much to Arthur’s consternation; the heat from his body had been more enjoyable than he wanted to admit. “I’m what?”

            “Morgana’s helping me do it. Yeah, I told her too, don’t get all put out about it,” Arthur said hastily before Merlin could open his mouth. “And there’s one more thing.”

            “What?”

            “You can’t overreact,” Arthur warned. “You can’t say no, and you can’t do anything about it.”

            “I’m not making any promises,” Merlin said stubbornly.

            Arthur locked eyes with him. “I’m coming with you.”

            Silence like glass hung in the air for a moment, until Merlin shoved himself away and shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. I’m going on my own, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. You’re not coming with me.”

            Arthur snorted. “You can’t even make it up the steps without me. I’m coming.”

            “No!” Merlin said. “Arthur, this was the whole point, you’re supposed to rule Camelot, you can’t just leave! You’re going to be the greatest king this land has ever seen, you can’t run away with a servant and—”

            “Not a servant,” Arthur interrupted. “A sorcerer.”

            Merlin threw up his hands, then flinched as pain clouded his features. “How is that better?”

            “Because,” Arthur said, leaning forward and clasping Merlin’s cold hand, “I’m trying to repay the steepest debt I’ve ever owed. My life, a thousand times over. For every day you’ve been here.” His voice broke. “I’m coming with you.”

            Merlin stared at him, eyes glinting sadly in the torchlight. “I can’t let you,” he said, his voice so small it was almost a whisper. “This is why I’m here. You want to just abandon it?” He twisted his hand so his cold fingertips were touching the inside of Arthur’s wrist. “I can’t do that. Not just so you can—take care of me for a little while.”

            “I’m not doing it just to take care of you, I’m doing it because I _want_ to. I don’t to be here anymore.”

            Merlin uttered a frantic laugh and shook his head. “What does that mean?”

            Arthur stood up, propelled by his own panicky sort of excitement and began to pace, leaving Merlin sitting on the ground staring at him. “I don’t know, I mean—I know I’m meant to be king and all that, rule Camelot and marry someone to get a decent alliance with another kingdom, but sometimes it just feels like—like everyone has a choice except me. Every single person living in the lower town can just pick up and leave if they wake up wanting to. They can go wherever they want, do whatever they wish, and I can’t.”

            “And that’s what you want?” Merlin said slowly, as though he were having trouble processing what Arthur was saying. “To pick up and leave?”

            Arthur gestured wildly to the entrance they came through. “Look at what my father has done to the kingdom! Look what he did to you! He knows that you saved my life, but because you have magic, he still wants to kill you. He values his own revenge over his son’s life.”

            “That’s not true,” Merlin whispered, reaching for him. Arthur let himself be tugged back down to the ground.

            “It is true,” Arthur said, willing himself not to feel anything, pushing back a raging tide of hurt against the father he thought he’d already renounced. “He loved my mother more than he’ll ever love me, and he thinks magic killed her, and that will always remind him of how I came about. I am a product of the very thing he hates so much. How could he ever love me?”

            “You are his son,” Merlin said, a current of steel running through his usually fragile voice. His bony fingers had a hard grip on Arthur’s wrist. “It doesn’t matter where you came from. He loves you.”

            “Merlin, I don’t care if he does,” Arthur said steadily. “Look at me.”

            Merlin glanced up at him with the greatest reluctance.

            “I know what my father is. And it’s not why I’m leaving. It’s not even because of the responsibility, the fact that I don’t want to be king, or anything else.”

            “Then what is it?”

            Something was lodged in Arthur’s throat, but looking at Merlin, his wide, curious eyes, he couldn’t quite make himself say it. “I just want to leave,” he said instead, feeling peculiarly crestfallen as he said it.

            Merlin tilted his head, and for a breath of time, the servant was gone. The rags he wore, the half-healed scars on his skin, even the magic in his blood, all of it was gone. Suddenly Arthur was gazing at a serious young man who had a tangible sadness in the way he held himself, and looked at him with eyes that made Arthur abruptly feel as though he was a child again, learning at the knee of someone who was far wiser than he. Then Merlin sighed and worn smile twitched at the edge of his mouth, and the illusion shattered as quickly as it had come.

            Arthur shook his head, feeling bizarrely chastised. “Anyway, we’ve gotten off point. I’m coming with you when you leave tomorrow, and—”

            “Tomorrow?” Merlin repeated, aghast. “That’s far too soon, I don’t have a plan!”

            “That’s because I have one,” Arthur said patiently. “I won’t see you all day tomorrow, but you’ll stay down here. Morgana and I will eat our evening meal with Uther, giving the impression that all is well, and I’ll tell him I plan to go hunting the next day to take my mind off things. He’ll agree, he always does, especially now that he’s reduced my duties. Both Morgana and I will retire after eating. Later in the evening, I’ll leave my chambers. If anyone sees me, I’ll claim I’m going to see Gaius for some sort of remedy or another, it doesn’t matter. I’ll gather supplies, horses and blankets and food and all the rest that we’ll need, and once I’m ready to leave, Morgana will cause a distraction. I assume that she’ll say there’s an assassin in her room or some sort, and if she screams, that will bring all the guards within earshot running. Which will be every guard in Camelot,” Arthur added dryly. “She’ll cause a scene, and meanwhile, we’ll be slipping out of the kingdom under cover of darkness. They’ll only be looking for you within the city, and because I’ve said I’ll be hunting, no one will be searching for me for a week at least.”

            “If Morgana does what you say she will, the second place the knights will run is to you,” Merlin said practically. “They’ll want their leader, and they’ll want orders if they really believe an assassin is in Camelot. And even if not, they will come to you with the news, and tell you to stay where you are.”

            “Uther made sure the knights saw him as their leader as soon as he relieved me of my responsibilities,” Arthur said, his mouth twisting. “They couldn’t come to me for orders even if they wanted to. As for protecting me, I’ve ordered George to stay in the antechamber and make sure the door is barred. “If anyone comes in, he’s to say I’m out—er—dallying.”

            Suddenly peals of laughter were ringing through the cavern, and Arthur lunged forward and slapped his hand over Merlin’s mouth. “Would you shut up?” he hissed. “What the hell is so funny?”

            “Sorry,” Merlin said with a muffled voice, still laughing through Arthur’s hand. “But if you ever have been with a chambermaid or anyone else while I’ve been in your service, you’ve been extraordinarily subtle about it. Which isn’t like you.”

            Arthur scowled and took his hand off Merlin’s mouth, wiping it on his trousers. “There are places to go, you know. He’s going to say I’m at the tavern or something like that, and they won’t look for me. They’ll be too busy with Morgana.”

            “We still have a problem,” Merlin said, growing sober again.

            “Which is?”

            “Say you’re coming with me—which I’ve still not agreed to—I don’t know if I’ll be able to ride,” he said reluctantly, and Arthur could tell by the way he bit his lip how much it cost him to say it.

            “Because of your ribs?”

            “Because of everything. If magic can heal me, I haven’t figured out how.”

            “And I wouldn’t want you to,” Arthur said. “Not now. You’d kill yourself trying.”

            “So escape would be largely pointless, because by the time we’d get to the borders, I’d be dead. We can’t wait until I fully heal because that would be months, and you can’t get supplies for my kind of injury without garnering suspicion.”

            Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. “So what do we do? You could ride on the same horse as me and the other could just be a packhorse for the time being.”

            “Even that wouldn’t be enough precaution. Without the proper binding to my ribs, stitches for my back and my side, and salve for the rest of the scrapes I’ve got, riding a horse would kill me no matter what. Bone would puncture my lung, which would drown me in my own blood in a matter of minutes, or the sword wound would open again, and although you kept my guts from spilling out last time, I doubt you could do it again in time. Or the marks on my back would split open, meaning I would lose blood so fast they’d have a clear trail to where we are and again, I would die.”

            “Stitches for the marks on your back,” Arthur said slowly, and Merlin blinked. “You were whipped.”

            Merlin squirmed, evidently unwilling to divulge more. “I thought you knew how prisoners were treated.”

            “Take off your shirt,” Arthur said flatly.

            “What?”

            “Take it off.”

            “You can’t even see anything, the torch isn’t bright enough to—”

            “Merlin, I said _take it off_!” Arthur said, getting dangerously close to shouting.

            “Always have to get your own way,” Merlin mumbled, and slid his arms out of his sleeves. He tried to pull the shirt over his head, but pain flashed across his features. He tried again and shook his head, sliding back against the wall. “It’s stuck to me,” he said in a low voice. “It needs to be cut off.”

            “Cut off?” Arthur said, not comprehending, and then—“Oh.” Merlin hadn’t changed his clothes since he was in the cells. He would have been whipped shirtless and then forced to put it back on, meaning that it was glued to his back with his own dried blood. And had been for days.

            Arthur made a noise of frustration and strode forward, pulling a knife from the belt at his hip. “You can’t ever make things better for yourself, can you? Couldn’t ask me to get you a new tunic or bandages or anything else, no, had to wait until the shirt was practically pasted to your skin. C’mon, turn around. I don’t want you wearing it anymore.”

            “I’ll be cold!” Merlin protested.

            “I’ll give you mine tonight.”

            Merlin grumbled but turned. Arthur cut carefully away at the tattered material, which was stiff and unyielding with blood. He tried to ignore the occasional gasps of pain from Merlin, breathing through his teeth in an effort not to cut him. The shirt came away in painstaking strips, and Arthur could see Merlin’s hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white as Arthur slowly peeled it off.

            When the back of the tunic was at last lying in a grubby heap on the ground, Arthur shuffled forward on his knees.

            “Okay,” he said softly. “Just the front now.”

            Merlin made no protest as Arthur lifted his arm and slid it out of the sleeve, on the contrary, his head tilted to the other side to give better access, leaving his neck exposed. His breath was coming more even now, but Arthur swallowed as he drew the other arm out, and the tunic fell silently to the floor. His hands slipped from Merlin’s cool shoulders.

            “Thank you,” Merlin said, in a voice that was barely a whisper.

            “You—you’re welcome,” Arthur choked out. He could feel his eyes filling as he stared at Merlin. He could clearly count every knob of his spine, but far, far worse than that were the deep, ragged gashes in his skin, from the tips of his shoulder blades to the small of his back. It was clear no effort had been made to clean him up; streaks of rust-coloured blood were smeared down past his hips into his trousers, where it stained. It was a marvel to even see the slight movement when he breathed, like a creature bearing this shouldn’t be alive.

            Arthur pressed a hand to his mouth, not trusting his voice enough to speak.

            “Well?” Merlin said expectantly. “How bad is it?”

            Arthur wiped at his eyes and slowly put his hand down. “I—I honestly can’t believe you’re still alive.”

            “It’s not really that bad, right?” Merlin said apprehensively. “I tried to clean myself up the best I could using water from the other cavern, but it’s hard to get my back, especially when the shirt is still on.”

            Arthur let a finger trail down Merlin’s back, feeling him jump under his touch. “I am—I cannot express how sorry I am,” he said roughly. He felt like he’d said that a thousand times the past few days, but somehow it wasn’t enough.

            Merlin turned around to face Arthur, catching his hand with his own. His eyes were gentle. “I know you are. I’m okay.”

            Arthur shook his head. “You’re not. You should be dead. I don’t know how you’re not dead.” He let his eyes drop to Merlin’s torso, watching his upper body rise up and down as he breathed, imagining he could see the lungs expand and deflate. The curve of Merlin’s collarbone was like the wing of a bird, jutting out above his shoulder, and the planes of his chest were flat and smooth. To Arthur’s rapid shock, he had to resist the almost overpowering urge to reach out and touch him.

            “Arthur?” Merlin said quietly. Arthur raised his eyes to meet Merlin’s again, watching as Merlin’s tongue darted out to moisten his chapped lips. His eyes were large and dark, lashes casting a faint shadow over the cut of his cheekbones. He was only an inch away. Arthur could feel the faint heat radiating from him.

            “Yeah?” Arthur said, hardly daring to breathe.

            “Thank you,” Merlin whispered.

            Arthur couldn’t break his gaze. Part of him wondered if it was magic, the other, larger part, knew it was something far more dangerous. Without meaning to he was reaching forward, and the pad of his thumb was gliding along Merlin’s cheek. Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into the touch, and Arthur’s heart leapt into his throat. “You know…” he said softly. “I think I’d do anything if it meant you’d look at me like that.”

            Merlin’s eyes opened and Arthur read the barest flash of shock in them before he was pulling away, too fast to even realize what he was doing.

            “I should go,” Arthur said, the volume of his voice seeming that much louder after the quiet conversation, and tugged off the outer layer of his own tunic. “This should keep you warm for tonight, and I—I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            He almost flung himself up the stairs in the hurry to get away, and consequently, did not see Merlin curl up into his shirt and bury his face in it, breathing as deeply as he could. Nor did he see the faint smile on Merlin’s face as he pulled it on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't lie, I was up genuinely all night writing this and only finished at six am, so if it seems a little odd, that's why haha. I also went back and fixed some discrepancies in the last chapter, thank you to Laahbane for pointing them out! I didn't realize but I never said this, if any of you catch an issue in consistency or anything else for that matter, you're more than welcome to let me know. I don't have a beta and no one other than me reads it before I put it out there--not a good habit, I know--so I'm super grateful to anyone who catches my mistakes. Thank you all for reading!


	17. Wisdom in Strange Mouths

The forest hadn’t changed at all. The pattern of the bark from trunk to trunk, the way the branches swayed creaking in the wind, the leaves that blanketed the ground…all of it was the same. Some part of Arthur thought something must have changed in his absence. That the paths he knew so well might have no longer led to the stream by the ancient oak, but instead to somewhere he’d never been before. The patrol routes were as well-trodden as the last time he himself had been on one. The smell of wet wood, the touch of the bright weeds that sprung up among the trees even in early winter, all of it could have been a memory Arthur hadn’t meant to step back into. These were the woods he walked with Gwen, where he had cleared out countless druid camps and hunted with a sorcerer at his back, and the forest knew his step.

            “Arthur?” Merlin said behind him, making him jump. “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah,” Arthur mumbled, turning to face him. “I don’t like being back here.”

            “I don’t think anyone does,” Merlin said. His unusually tense gaze moved over Morgana, who was pacing beside their small fire, biting her lip so hard Arthur fancied he could see a spot of blood there. Héloise was standing off to the side watching Morgana, clearly unable to put her at ease. “Too many memories.”

            “It’s only going to get worse. When we get into Camelot…”

            “I know,” Merlin said. “It won’t be fun.”

            “Are you sure about this?” Arthur said in a low voice, taking him aside. “This is incredibly dangerous for you. They might just decide to kill you on the spot.”

            “They’d want to make an example of me. You can’t do that by killing me on the street like a common murderer. They’d want to prove that my power isn’t anything compared to theirs. I’ll be fine, Arthur.”

            “This whole plan is just so—shaky. It depends entirely on the will of others. Telling Uther that I’ve been under a spell or something and I’ve miraculously been set free or escaped as he’s dying…I don’t know.”

            “He won’t have time to think about it. All you have to do is sit with him for a little while until I come up.”

            “Until you come up?” Arthur said, his brows drawing together in a frown. “I thought I was going down to let you out.”

            Merlin waved a dismissive hand. “What’s the point when I can just break out myself?”

            “Because,” Arthur said tightly, “you have no authority. You’ll meet every single knight of Camelot on your way up to the king’s chambers. You’ll be able to hold them off, but not forever. What sliver of respect they still have for me will be well used to get you up and out if they see us. They see you alone, that’s the end.”

            “Fine,” Merlin said. “You come down after the castle’s asleep—including Uther, don’t forget, if he sees you leave he’ll raise the alarm—and let me out.”

            Arthur took in a deep breath and blew it out. “This is it. We’re really doing this.”

            “We’re really doing this,” Merlin said, and his face shone with confidence as he looked at Arthur. “It’ll be okay. I can feel it.”

            “Oh, you can feel it,” Arthur said sardonically. “In that case I’ll stop worrying.”

 

            Night arrived early, as it so often made a habit of in the winter months. With it came a watery moon shedding light on a small campsite consisting of four people just outside the borders of Camelot. Though midnight had passed some hours ago, none of the four were sleeping, and instead spoke in separate conversations with low voices and words that were not meant to be heard by any other.

            Héloise and Morgana were curled up by the foot of a truly massive tree, sharing blankets as recompense for the lack of a fire by their feet. Though they must have been cold, neither of them moved, and the only thing that wasn’t still was Héloise’s hand as it came up to stroke Morgana’s dark head.

            Merlin and Arthur were sitting against a log by the fire. Merlin was peaceful and relaxed, tipping his head back against the log and letting his eyes slide shut, but Arthur felt the opposite. His leg was constantly jogging, the beat of his heart was so hard and loud he thought sure a bandit a league away could have heard it, and adrenaline raced through him the way it did when he knew he was about to do something he might regret later.

            All of these thought, however, were immediately lost as soon as Merlin sighed and laid a hand on Arthur’s moving leg.

            “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or am I going to have to guess?” Merlin said.

            “Go ahead and guess.”

            “I’m not stupid, you know.”

            “You’re doing a marvellous impression of it,” Arthur barked, though where his temper had come from, he couldn’t have said.

            “You’re worried about tomorrow.”

            “Stop looking at me like that,” Arthur said through gritted teeth.

            Merlin looked surprised. “Like what?”

            “Like you can see through me. It’s annoying.”

            Merlin huffed a laugh and leaned back again. “Are you saying I can’t see through you?”

            “I’m saying you don’t know what’s wrong, and all the guesses in the world wouldn’t do you any good.”

            “So there is something wrong. Tell me.”

            “No.”

            “Go on. Tell me.”

            “What does _cariad_ mean?” Arthur asked abruptly.

            Confusion etched Merlin’s features. “What?”

            “ _Cariad_. You’ve called me that a million times, and I still don’t know what it means. I asked Héloise but she wouldn’t tell me.”

            Merlin shifted. “It’s just a nickname, Arthur. No reason to get upset about it.”

            “Right. So you won’t tell me that, but you expect me to pour out my grievances to you when you ask?”

            Merlin threw up his hands. “Fine! Sit there and stew in it, I don’t care.”

            They sat in a prickly, dour silence for some time, Merlin humming under his breath just to prove he wasn’t angry and Arthur sitting with his arms crossed, fuming. But Morgana’s dire warning rang through his thoughts, and the image of Merlin on his knees in front of Arthur’s broken body was stained on the inside of his eyelids. That and the knowledge they were going to parted tomorrow for the first time in a very long time, knowing how wrong things could go, it was only a few moments before Arthur spoke again.

            “It’s Morgana,” he said. “Something she said.”

            Merlin turned to face him, and if he felt any anxiety, his expression didn’t betray him. “What’d she say? Something horribly pessimistic about how we’re all doomed?”

            “No, she was talking about…about you.”

            “About _me_?” Merlin sat up straight. His eyes flashed over to where Morgana was now lying in Héloise’s lap, apparently content. “What did she say?”

            Arthur picked at the grass, realizing what he had gotten himself into and inwardly cursing himself for it. He didn’t want to say anything. Why on earth had he brought it up?

            “She—er—had some problems with your motivations.”

            “What’s wrong with them?”

            “She thinks you’re only doing this for me. She thinks you do everything for me, and—and she thinks I am the only reason you live.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “That if I were not alive, you would not be either,” Arthur choked out, hardly managing his words in the mouth that had suddenly become numb.

            Merlin’s expression went flat. His lips thinned into a hard white line, the wrinkle in his brow disappeared, and the sparkle in his eye was snuffed out. His skin looked like it was made of marble.

            “Did she say anything else?” Merlin finally said.

            “Much—too much, and Merlin, if tomorrow goes badly…”

            Merlin raised a cool eyebrow. “Yes?”

            “You must promise me you will accept it. If something should happen to me, I forbid you from taking revenge, or harming yourself, or anything else that comes to mind.”

            Merlin emitted the same chilling laugh Arthur had heard at his trial so long ago, and he shuddered at the sound of it.

“You can’t forbid me anything.”

            “Please,” Arthur said, ignoring him and leaning forward to clasp Merlin’s hands in his own, “please tell me you have something to live for other than myself. That you don’t exist for me, but exist on your own, a wholly separate entity.”

            But Merlin was already shaking his head. “I can’t. I was born to ser—”

            Arthur’s hand tightened on Merlin’s. “You were not born for me,” he said, in a voice so low Merlin might have imagined it. “You lived a life before me, and you will live a life after.”

            Merlin ripped his hands away. “Don’t hold me to this! You don’t know—the years of confusion I suffered, of not knowing why my mother was terrified every time I stepped out my door, not knowing why I had the magic I did, the abilities that were so easy for me…with you came a purpose. I knew why I was there, what I had to do, and if it became too much, it didn’t matter. I could always see the road ahead.”

            “I understand that, Merlin, I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m your whole life! It was never meant to be that way—”

            “ _Not meant_ to be that way? That’s the whole point of this! We weren’t meant to run away either, you weren’t meant to spend your time whiling your life away in a forest far from home, but here we are!”

            “That’s not at all what I mean, and you know it. There is a great difference between defying destiny and tying your entire existence to something that’s just as mortal as you are,” Arthur said in anguish. “Please—if something happens to me—I couldn’t stand knowing that you’d follow me…”

            “‘As death as in life’,” Merlin quoted calmly.

            “No!” Arthur shouted, and stood, propelled by his anger. “You are not—you aren’t my possession! You don’t belong to me! You say that your magic belongs to me, but that’s not all you are, you’re a person, you live and breath and have your own free will, that’s what I want, I want Merlin—” and he took him and shook him hard by the shoulders. “You could have no magic at all, you could be the servant I thought you were for so long, and you would still mean _so much_ to me! You must understand—I see you as who you are, not a shell for your magic to inhabit.”

            “What else is there to see?” Merlin asked in a broken whisper. His face looked like a cracked mask with terrible emotion behind it. “What else am I?”

            “What else are you?” Arthur repeated; he threw his head back and a peal of wild laughter left his lips. “What can I say? You hum when you’re happy, you don’t like to cut your hair no matter how wild it gets, you have a talent for finding exactly the herbs you need when you need them, your posture when you ride is better than mine, you’re terrible with a sword, polishing chainmail is your least favourite chore…you have courage and a good memory and nimble fingers, but most of all, Merlin, most of all, you are _kind_.”

            Arthur dropped to his knees and took Merlin’s hands again, whose eyes were shining with tears. “You are kind,” he said again. “Which is a trait people, especially you, never fail to undervalue.”

            “Arthur,” Merlin said, his own emotion nearly suffocating his voice, and reached for him.

            Arthur pulled Merlin into himself, uttering a breath of gratitude that even Merlin did not hear. Merlin’s head was lying on his shoulder, arms slung around his neck, and Arthur was holding him so tightly he imagined he could feel the beat of his heart against his own chest.

            “You must promise,” Arthur said, voice muffled against Merlin’s neck, “not just to live for me, but to live in spite of me.”

 

* * *

 

            “Okay—okay wrap it around my ribs, as tight as you can— _ouch_! Don’t twist it like that, wrap it flat against my sternum—”

            “Well if you kept your arms up, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

            “And I’d keep my arms up and let you finish if you knew what you were doing,” snapped Merlin. “Be careful of my back, if the gauze is too loose it will rub against the wounds there and it’ll be painful.”

            “I wish we had Gaius,” Arthur muttered. Merlin was practically in his lap, bare arms resting on Arthur’s shoulders and fingers digging into his back with every move that Arthur made. His head was usually tipped back, focusing on breathing, but now he was craning his neck to try and see how Arthur was binding the cloth around the middle of his back and against his ribs.

            “You’re not the only one,” Merlin mumbled.

            “I’m doing the best I can!”

            “I know, I know. Sorry.”

            Arthur wrapped the gauze around his ribs one more time as Merlin grimaced, and then cut the last of it off. Merlin leaned back on his hands with a groan of relief.

            “There,” Arthur said, the tension draining from his voice as he sat back to look at his work. The stark white of the bandage was alarming against the grime and dirt of Merlin’s usually pale skin. Even his eyes seemed brighter in contrast. “Done. What’s next?”

            “There’s not much else to do,” Merlin said, tracing his finger along the edge of the gauze, inspecting the job done. “You did well, though. Especially for your first time.”

            “All right,” Arthur said, standing up and brushing his legs off. “I’ll come back tonight for you. You’ll be ready to go?”

            Merlin nodded. “Be careful.”

            “I always am,” Arthur said, and left.

            Outside the sun was just beginning to rise, and the rest of Camelot with it. Cloudy rays of sunlight seeped over the horizon as Arthur walked back to the castle, throwing the hood over his head to cast himself in shadow. No doubt servants would already be up, and slipping by them wouldn’t be easy, but with any luck he’d get into his chambers before George managed to.

            Like he’d suspected, the castle was filled with busy people, but with negligible contact and the occasional curious stare, Arthur made it up the stairwell. As soon as he’d made it into his room he bolted the door behind him and slid down the wall. Anxiety that he hadn’t realized was there was disappearing, loosening his shoulders and unknotting his back, and before long, he felt his eyelids become heavy with sleep.

            It felt like he had just crawled into bed and closed his eyes when a sharp knock sounded at the door, though his bleary eyes and creaky limbs told him differently. The sun was fully out now and had been for a while, his breakfast lay stale on the table and lunch had long passed. Swearing under his breath, Arthur threw aside the covers and stalked to the door, wrenching it open with a growled, “What?”

            “Honestly Arthur, it’s just me,” Morgana said, shoving past him into the room.

            Arthur slammed the door shut behind her. “What the hell do you want?”

            “I’m just making sure we’re okay for tonight,” she said, idly tracing her fingers along the bumps in the wood on his desk. She was a resplendent picture in a pale green gown that flowed down her body and cream-coloured lace that curved around her throat. Even the ornament set into her gleaming hair matched her eyes perfectly. But Arthur wasn’t in the mood to compliment her.

            “‘Making sure we’re okay for tonight?’” he said, mimicking her. “This isn’t an evening dance, Morgana. We’re—”

            “I know what we’re doing,” she said. “I just want to know that your plan is full-proof, because most of them are reckless and full of holes. I don’t want you to get caught.”

            “I won’t get caught,” Arthur said testily. “Is that all?”

            “Fine! Yes, that’s all. Don’t be late for dinner tonight.”

            “Morgana, wait,” Arthur said, catching her by the arm as she walked past him. “What’s the distraction going to be?”

            A half ironic, half bitter smile twitched at the edge of Morgana’s lips, and there was a distant look in the eyes that so resembled the jewel she wore. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

 

            The clink of Arthur’s fork against his plate seemed unerringly loud. His mouth was dry as a desert and a goblet full of wine was right there, but he knew if he picked it up his hand would shake. Morgana was sitting across from him, apparently tucking into her meal with enthusiasm, but Arthur couldn’t bear to look up at her for fear the dread in his eyes would betray him.

            “Arthur,” Uther said.

            “Er—yeah?”

            “Run me through your—”

            “Uther,” Morgana said, setting down her glass, “how are the knights doing under your tutelage? Have they risen to your expectations after Arthur’s dismal leadership?” She smirked at him, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to be angry under the intense appreciation for distracting his father.

            “In fact, they have.” Uther nodded at him and a weak smile twitched at the edges of Arthur’s mouth. “Something to be said for how hard you’ve worked. They respond wonderfully to commands, patrols are quick and thorough…you’ve done a good job, Arthur. They’ve thrived under you.”

            “Does that mean they’re mine again?” Arthur said, stabbing at the innocent meat lying on his plate. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that this was possibly the last meal he’d eat with his father. He’d never sit in this chair again, see Camelot’s crown on his father’s brow, breathe the air in this room, sleep in his own bed…the list went on and on. The more he thought about it the more he realized how little experience he had outside of Camelot, that as knowledgeable as he was about the kingdom’s inner workings, he knew next to nothing about the life he was about to step into.

            “Arthur?” Uther was looking at him expectantly.

            “What?” Arthur said, slamming his glass down a little too hard, making dark wine slop over the sides.

            Uther raised an eyebrow. “I said your responsibilities are yours again. Perhaps I was harsh in taking them away. I have to assume you were…grieving, in a way,” Uther said, the word twisting his ugly mouth. “As guilty as your manservant may have been, you were close, for a time. I would have thought his loyalty to you would have prevented his treachery.”

            Arthur bit the already ragged inside of his cheek so hard he could taste coppery blood on his tongue. “Yes,” he got out. “Me too.”

            Morgana was looking worriedly from Uther to Arthur, who, on top of probing his bitten cheek, was clutching his knife so hard his knuckles were white.

            “Well,” she said quickly, “I think I’m finished.” She threw her napkin down and stood, breaking the strain in the air as Arthur looked up at her, blinking. “Arthur, a word in my chambers?”

            “Of course,” he mumbled, and pushed back his chair. “Excuse me, father.”

            Once they had reached her room Morgana shut the door behind him and, without any warning, threw herself into his arms. Arthur stumbled back and hit his head painfully on the post.

            “Morgana!” he protested, his voice an octave higher than usual. She drew back a step and to his shock, her face was shining with tears.

            “What’s wrong?” Arthur said, unnerved now. “Did something happen?”

            “No, nothing happened, but Arthur, I mean…you’re leaving. We grew up together, and as much as I admire you actually making a decision for yourself for once—”

            “Thanks,” he muttered.

            “I’m going to miss you,” Morgana said simply.

            “Oh,” Arthur said, taken aback. His expression softened. “I’m going to miss you too. But you know it’s the right choice.”

            “I do,” she whispered. “Promise me something.”

            “What?”

            “Whatever you see tonight, whatever I do…promise you won’t think of me any differently. I’ve done some things that I’m not proud of—not so long ago—but I’m hoping this helps square me a little bit.”

            Arthur’s forehead creased. “I don’t understand.”

            “I know.” She squeezed his hand. “Wait in your room for an hour. You’ll know when to go.”

            “Again, Morgana—thank you,” Arthur said, genuine gratitude in his voice, and she gave him an odd, tremulous smile before he left her.

            An hour had never passed so slowly. Arthur watched old sunlight shift sluggishly across the walls, he paced back and forth, he packed and repacked every bag he had three times and ran his hands through his hair so often it stood on end. The sun faded beneath the horizon and dusk replaced it, and just when Arthur was ready to shoot the plan to hell and get Merlin out whether he was ready or not, a single, piercing scream broke the calm.

            Arthur looked up. Someone else screamed and then a cacophony of noise erupted, the sound of boots thudding against the floor, bellowed orders, doors slamming, and then all at once every single window in Arthur’s chambers burst, shattering a rain of glass and forcing him to the floor with an unearthly gust of wind.

            “Holy shit,” Arthur exhaled, disoriented. His ears were ringing with the sound of breaking glass and it was covering his floor, glinting appealingly in the dim light. The curtains were rippling in the wind and dust blew in the cooling air, making the room seem peculiarly lonely.

            Before he could think about it too much Arthur was on his feet, slinging two bags over his shoulder and throwing a cloak over his shoulders. He opened his door for the last time, and without looking back, shut it behind him.

            Just as he had predicted, no one glanced at him as he made his way through the castle. His breath was coming short and fast and every step echoing around a corner made him think of being confined to his chambers, Merlin waiting in a cavern he would never leave, a patrol finding his body weeks later…every torch he passed posed a danger and he fancied that every servant hurrying past him recognized his face.

            The rush of relief he felt when he got to the entrance to the courtyard was dizzying. He held his breath as he pushed the door open, almost expecting a squad of guards to head him off at the pass, but the courtyard was empty. Arthur uttered a quick prayer of thanks and walked as quickly as he dared to the lower town. The satchels on his back got heavier with every step, and he turned to see if he was being followed so frequently he nearly tripped a dozen times. He passed a couple of people with drinks in their hands laughing loudly, and at one point thought he heard a patrol coming and immediately dove into the nearest alley.

            When he reached the mouth of the stairway he was now so familiar with, he took a surreptitious look around before vanishing into the passageway. Although he expected to see the glow of a fire greeting his unadjusted eyes at any moment, there was nothing, and when he had gotten to the bottom there was no movement, and no soft voice breaching the deathly silence.

            “Merlin?” Arthur said into the dark, but there was no answer. Perhaps he was sleeping. But Merlin was a light sleeper, he should have woken the second Arthur stepped onto the stairs. “Merlin,” he tried again, but there was nothing. Something cold and weighty dropped into his stomach.

            Arthur dropped the bags he was holding, his insides now beginning to roil with sickening fear and walked to where Merlin always sat. His lack of sight was so complete he could have waved his hand in front of his face and seen nothing, but he could sense that nothing was there. There was no breath, no warmth, and terror tore so vividly through Arthur that he was almost forced to his knees. He closed his eyes, unwilling to comprehend what he already knew.

            Searching for more evidence, any clue that Merlin was just around the corner, Arthur dropped to his knees and frantically combed through the dirt, trailing his hand over the walls and the ground for something, anything to tell him Merlin was coming back. But there was nothing.

            He was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every single one of you is KILLING me with this feedback and it just makes me want to write more, so thank you for the motivation!! Hope everyone's doing ok in quarantine!


	18. Skin is a Word

Arthur woke much, much warmer than he should have been for someone who was sleeping outside in a frost. He should’ve been freezing. Instead he was so hot his clothes were sticking damply to his skin and there was a crushing weight on his chest, and without thinking about it Arthur grumbled and tried to move away. The weight shifted on top of him and he opened his eyes to an armful of Merlin.

“Oh,” Arthur said groggily, trying to ignore the massive kick of adrenaline it had produced to have Merlin lying virtually on top of him. “Hey.”

“Mm…hi,” Merlin slurred, and if it were possible, burrowed further into him.

“Ouch,” Arthur complained, internally willing himself to settle down before he rolled over and pinned Merlin to the ground. “You’re too hot to sleep with. Get off me.”

“No. I’m cold.”

“That’s not physically possible,” Arthur grumbled, and shoved him off, standing up to stretch. Merlin objected incoherently and curled up into himself, hugging the empty satchel Arthur had been using as a pillow. Arthur swallowed and looked away.

“Hey,” Morgana said a few minutes later, coming up to him and yawning. Her hair would have been a rat’s nest had it not been for the tight braid Héloise has wound it into, and a few curling strands had struggled loose and framed her tired face.

“Almost ready?” Arthur asked, leaning down to fold a couple more items before packing it into the bag.

“In a bit.” Her eyes darted over to where Merlin was still lying, apparently content. “Have you spoken to him?”

Arthur jerked and dropped what he was holding. “Depends on what you’re talking about. I talked to him about living if I died and that he shouldn’t rely so much on me, and I think he took it to heart.”

“That’s all?”

“Honestly,” Arthur said, “we’re about to risk our lives to heal a genocidal tyrant that probably shouldn’t be alive anyway, what do you want me to do? Propose to him?”

“Of course not, but if things go wrong, I don’t want you to regret not saying something.”

“For the last time,” he said, speaking between his teeth, “there’s nothing to say!” He whirled around and stalked to the stream, presumably to fill the water skin he was clutching between his fingers, but really to get away from Morgana. Once out of sight, he threw the skin against a tree and sat down, seething with rage. The minutes stretched on as he sat there. Morgana’s smug, all-knowing face swam in front of him and he leaned over to splash some glacial water on his face.

“Damn her to hell,” he said furiously. “What the hell does she know?”

“Wow,” came a mild voice from behind him; Arthur whipped around. “What’re you two fighting about now?”

It was just Merlin. This fact did not help Arthur to relax.

“Nothing,” he said evasively. “She just thinks she knows everything. It’s irritating. Do you know if they’re ready to go yet?”

“What?”

“Are they ready to leave?”

Merlin frowned. “What do you mean? They left already. Remember we were going to split off so they could get to an easier point to get across the border, somewhere that isn’t constantly watched? She and Héloise took off a few minutes after you left. She said that she already said goodbye to you.”

Arthur stared at him. “They…left. By themselves.”

Merlin nudged him. “That was kind of the whole point of all this. Wouldn’t make sense if they came in through the same spot we did, right after we do it. They’d be caught instantly.”

“I guess,” Arthur said in bewilderment. “She didn’t say goodbye.”

“You’ll see her again soon. She mentioned something about seeing us in a couple days, and since you’d already gone so long without seeing her without any ill effects, she doubted you have any problems.”

Arthur let out a small snort of laughter. “That sounds like her.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, his mouth curling up in a grin. They sat in comfortable silence together, listening to the brook gurgle and the leaves rustle, and Arthur breathed in the sharp winter air.

“It’s just us now,” Merlin said eventually. He made to get up. “We should go soon.”

“Wait,” Arthur said, closing his eyes and hating himself. “Don’t get up.”

There was a pause, and then Merlin sat back down. Arthur could feel his concerned gaze. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” Arthur said, licking his lips. “Nothing’s wrong. I just want to talk to you about something.”

“Is this about last night’s talk?”

“Sort of.”

Merlin sighed and rolled his eyes skyward. “What is it now? You want me to get rid of my magic entirely so I don’t terrify you anymore?”

“That was not at all the point I was making, and you know that,” Arthur said. “I just want to—chat a little more about that.”

“I understand what you were saying,” Merlin said, the joking tone vanishing from his voice. “I know you’re right. It’s just hard to remember sometimes.”

“There’s just—there might be more.”

Merlin cocked his head. “What does that mean? If we’ve come all the way to Camelot just so you can back out—”

“No, that’s not it,” Arthur interrupted. He closed his eyes and inhaled a wobbly breath, his hands clutching at the stiff grass. He felt like he’d rather be anywhere than where he was. “It’s just…I don’t really know how to say this, but we’ve been living together a long time, and we’ve known each other even longer…I just—I think—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but we’re sitting right on edge of doing something dangerous, and I don’t want to go in without—well, without saying what I mean, so—so keeping in mind everything that I said last night and that it all still applies—I wanted to—er—maybe mention—”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, enunciating rather loudly, “if you don’t say what you’re going to in the next two minutes, I’m going to Camelot by myself and leaving you behind.”

Arthur stared at him. “I…”

“ _What_?”

“I—I want you,” Arthur whispered unwillingly, the words wrenched from him and leaving a gaping hole of humiliation and vulnerability He waited, teetering on the edge of despair, watching every micro-expression Merlin made. His heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was bruising his chest and his hands had grown slack and numb, so focused was he on Merlin.

After what felt like an eternity, Merlin finally frowned. “What?”

“I—what do you mean, what?” Arthur said, his panicky voice rising with every syllable. “I just said it!”

“What do you want?”

“You!” Arthur shouted. A few birds above them twittered in alarm and took flight, and somehow that was what set him off, and then it was all pouring out in a torrent of pent-up emotion. “I—I wake up thinking about you, I go to sleep thinking about you, I worry you’re not safe if you’re not sleeping beside me, I ran away from home to be with you! Not because of Camelot or Gwen or my father, you! I wanted to be with you more than I wanted a throne or a wife or anything else, and it’s been torture watching you all day every day, your hair and your lips and the way you walk and your hands and that ridiculous laugh, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, it’s all—it’s driving me mad! I don’t know what to do anymore, I know I shouldn’t be thinking like this, I just…I can’t, I don’t know what to— _Merlin, could you please say something_?”

Merlin was staring at him, slack-jawed. His eyes were trained on every movement Arthur made and his cheeks were flushed so dark the tips of his ears were pink. “You…want me,” he repeated fuzzily, like the words were foreign to him, and he wasn’t sure yet how they fit in his mouth.

“ _Yes_ ,” Arthur said. His breaths were coming shallow to him now and his fingers were digging into the frozen dirt, unmindful of the dull pain radiating up his wrists. “Please—say something,” he said again, but the excitement was fading.

A despairing, horrible sort of satisfaction was tearing at Arthur’s heart, an acknowledgement of what he had just said and that he could never take it back now, no matter what happened. Merlin knew now. How could he have said it? Surely he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t have done this to himself, he couldn’t have singlehandedly destroyed the life he now loved so much…

And then Merlin leaned forward and his thumb rose to brush against Arthur’s cheek; his eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into it, heart thrilling to the simple touch.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, his voice a picture of wonderment. “Do you think I kept my magic a secret because a dragon told me to? Or that I saved you countless times because it was destiny, and I had to follow its direction? Destiny and fate have nothing to do with why I sleep beside you every night, _cariad_.”

“Tell me what it means?” Arthur asked in an unbearably faint voice, hardly daring to hope.

Merlin smiled shakily, and Arthur realized his eyes were welling up with tears.

“Love,” he whispered.

“Oh, thank God,” Arthur gasped, his voice almost a sob, and leaned forward and kissed Merlin.

Merlin made a soft, desperate noise in the back of his throat and Arthur’s hand rose to cup the back of his dark head; he hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed this until he had it. It felt almost painful to kiss him. Merlin made another, more impatient noise and slid his arms around Arthur’s neck, shifting closer until his body was brushing Arthur’s. Arthur’s other hand pressed hard against his back, pulling him further into him until he was pressed flat against Arthur’s chest. Merlin tasted of fresh green apples, of honeyed wine and breakfast, the way the moon shone on the cobblestones, purple flowers on the windowsill, furs on winter nights, the crackle of a fire, sex on a summer morning and laughter, but Merlin tasted of home more than anything else.

Everything was a euphoric, delicate blur. Merlin’s lips were yielding and sensitive and moving against his own until everything grew warm and golden, Merlin’s fingers in his hair, his waist beneath Arthur’s hands, their hearts pounding in tandem with each other, blood roaring in their ears…and for what felt like jeweled days slipping by, there was nothing but them.

When he became distantly aware of his body screaming for oxygen, Arthur drew back to suck in lungfuls of clear, cold air. “We can’t,” he said blindly, physically unable to stop himself from trailing Merlin’s skin, his face, his jaw, sliding his fingers along what skin he could find…

Merlin groaned and pulled a bare inch away, his gaze so open and exposed and dangerous that Arthur almost couldn’t look back. “What,” he murmured breathlessly, restless hands tracing up and down Arthur’s chest so he could hardly think. “What do you think we cannot do?”

“I—you— _ah_ —Merlin, do you even want…”

His eyes widened at that. “Do I even want this? Is that what you were going to say?”

He tilted forward and garnered another kiss from Arthur, who moaned in frustration when Merlin leaned back again. His hands were pressing insistently at the small of Merlin’s back; he had already forgotten what he was going to say. “Do you understand what you do to me?” Merlin asked almost violently. “I was meant to bring magic back to Camelot. I was meant to—to bring about Albion, make you the greatest king in history, I have so many names, so many have been waiting for me, and I—all I wanted was to keep you alive. Not only that, I wanted you beside me, _fy nghariad_ , you can’t imagine for how long, knowing your habits and your kindness were never enough, I wanted all of it.”

“ _Fy_ —?”

“My love,” Merlin breathed, and then they were kissing again, slow and slick and excruciatingly deliberate…

“Wait,” Arthur gasped out, desperate to say what he needed to before the taste of Merlin in his mouth overwhelmed him again. “You—I can’t be your whole world, I can’t be everything, you have to be able to live without me, please. Promise me. Promise me that I am not everything.”

“You are not everything,” Merlin whispered, his eyes huge and hazily dark as his gaze flickered over Arthur’s face. “I know you and I love you, but you are not everything. You are as mortal as I am.”

“You love me,” Arthur said, trying to wrap his head around the fact that the strange, familiar man sitting in front of him, whose face blazed with feeling he could hardly understand, loved him of all things. “You love me how? Like what?”

Merlin gave him a long, searching look. “ I can only say I love you. There are some things that cannot be described as another.”

Arthur drew in a great, shuddering breath, and he didn’t realize there were tears running down his face until Merlin was wiping them away from under his eyes.

“ _Paid a chrio, cariad,_ ” he murmured, the unknown language rolling mellifluously off his tongue like he was born to it.

Arthur choked out a watery laugh. “Stop saying things I don’t understand.”

“I can’t help it,” Merlin said, his voice cracking. “You—these words aren’t good enough for me. I need something else.”

“You know I love you too,” Arthur whispered. He sucked in another breath; somehow, the air had never tasted so clean before. “I wish I had something beautiful to say, something to tell you how much, but I have nothing.” He leaned forward until their heads were bent together, until their breath mingled in the air and there was nothing but wisps of light in the intimate space between their mouths. “Nothing. I love you. I don’t know what it is to love anyone else.”

“I know,” Merlin said softly. “I fell in love with you so long ago…I don’t remember when I recognized it for what it was.”

“Thank God for you,” Arthur said brokenly. “ _Cariad_ , thank God for you.”

They sat together on the edge of the brook, wholly enveloped in their own glossy bubble. But around them the wind still blew between the delicate branches of trees, the sun rose leisurely in the East, and pebbles in the brook were made smooth by the water running over them, running endlessly, running all the time.

 

 

        

 

* * *

 

“Damn it, Merlin, no,” Arthur said desperately, and leaned his head against the ground in the quiet alcove. Morgana had been right. That cruel, selfish bastard, he had gone and left Arthur alone. And Arthur had left him at dawn, which meant he could have been gone the whole day. There was no way to catch up to him, no way to know where or when he might have left the city.

He hadn’t said goodbye. He hadn’t given any indication that he was leaving, that he would never see Arthur again, all he had said was to be careful. Rich words coming from an injured man in the middle of a city that was howling for his blood a fortnight ago.

“Wait,” Arthur said aloud as a new thought struck him. The sound of his voice in such a dark, hollow place was eerily inhuman. How could he have done it? A severely wounded, convicted warlock that everyone knew both by name and appearance, how could a person such as that have left a city bustling with life?

“Easy,” Arthur said, the brilliance of his hope nearly blinding him, “he couldn’t have.”

Just like that he was scrambling upwards, taking the steps two at a time and dashing out onto the street, heedless of anyone who crossed his path. The sky was utterly dark now, only the stars and the sliver of a sickly moon made Arthur able to see where he was going. He retraced the steps he had just taken back to the castle, where he halted, stunned.

“Fuck,” Arthur said under his breath, staring up at the turrets he knew so well. It hadn’t just been the windows in his room that had broken. Every last window in the entire castle was shattered and several shouts and screams could be heard coming from the wing where Morgana’s chambers were. A light was flaring in the window, and Arthur could see shadows passing rapidly back and forth over it.

“Can’t say Morgana doesn’t know how to throw a party,” Arthur mumbled, and then he was in the palace again, running up a narrow, winding staircase that was so familiar to him, that Merlin had helped him up so many times…

Knowing any attempt at subtlety was a lost cause; Arthur scarcely paused for breath before hammering on the door with his fist and bellowing for entry.

It was only a moment before the door creaked open and Gaius stood on the threshold, expression betraying only a hint of irritability.

“Sire,” he said, his voice clipped. “What can I do for you at this late hour?”

“You can stand aside,” Arthur said, and pushed past him into the room. His gaze swept the area once, twice, three times, but he found only what he had found a thousand times before. Nubs of candles, ancient books, scrolls with unknowable languages printed on them, and the comfortable aroma of ink and paper. It did nothing to dissuade him. Arthur turned on Gaius.

“Where is he,” he snarled.

“Where is who?” Gaius said innocuously.

“Quit trying to protect him. I know Merlin’s here.”

“Sire, I’m afraid you have the wrong—”

But Arthur wasn’t waiting for any excuses, and without another word he turned on his heel and stalked to Merlin’s former room. Amid frantic warnings from Gaius, he flung the door open and nearly collapsed at the sight that greeted him.

Merlin was lying in the bed that Arthur had never realized was too small for him until this moment. He was fast asleep, one leg flung over into midair and his hand resting on his bandaged sternum. Strange shadows danced over his face, and the light of the candle made it look as though the tips of his fingers were transparent.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed and took a step forward; and then there was a remarkably strong grip on his shoulder jerking him back.

“Gaius,” Arthur said, trying to rein in his simmering temper. “What are you doing?”

His face was unusually pale as he spoke. “Merlin told me everything, sire. And as grateful as I am for you keeping him safe, your plan is madness, to put it simply. Merlin is right, your destiny and your life remains here, even if his does not. You cannot risk the entirety of Albion for a foolish whim, for one man, even one such as Merlin. You can’t—”

“I don’t need your opinion,” Arthur said through clenched teeth.

“Forgive me, but you do. This plan will surely fail, and then—”

“I DON’T CARE IF IT DOES!” Arthur roared, spectacularly losing the grip he had on his temper. “IF I CAN GET HIM OUT—”

“The risks are too steep! You cannot understand what pains Merlin has taken to preserve your life—”

“I DON’T HAVE TO UNDERSTAND A DAMN—”

“Arthur?” came another, suspiciously drowsy voice, and Arthur swiveled round on his heel. Merlin was sitting up and rubbing at his eyes, the one arm propping him up trembling.

“You,” Arthur said, stalking towards him and changing tactics at the speed of light. “You lied to me.”

“Er—right,” Merlin said, shuffling backwards so fast his head hit the wall. “About that…”

“If you weren’t half dead already, I’d be breaking you in half,” Arthur threatened, and Merlin laughed nervously, clutching at the rumpled sheets around his waist.

“We—me and Gaius, I mean—we just thought it would be a better idea if I left on my own…”

“That was horseshit, and now we’ve wasted precious time that could’ve been used in getting you through the city. Get up, we’re leaving.”

“No,” Merlin said stubbornly. “I’m not letting you come with me.”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Arthur growled, and Merlin flung aside the covers and scrambled to the other side of the room, such a pathetic attempt at evasion that Arthur nearly laughed.

“How exactly are you planning to make me?” Merlin challenged.

“Like this,” Arthur said, and lunged forward to grab Merlin by the arm. He dragged him forward, Merlin protesting and kicking out, and Arthur drew a dagger out of his belt. Gaius cried a warning but it was too late; Arthur took the hilt and struck Merlin over the head with it.

There was a shiver and Merlin uttered a tiny, surprised, “ _Oh_ ,” before he dropped like a stone into Arthur’s arms.

“There,” Arthur grunted, heaving an unconscious Merlin upwards over his shoulder. “Gaius, you so much as look at me and I’ll knock you out too, understand? This is happening whether you like it or not.”

“I wish I could say you knew what you were doing,” Gaius said, his brow drawn into a knot the way it usually was when someone was dying. “Please, sire, I’m _begging_ you to reconsider. Stay for a little longer, let Merlin heal, and perhaps by that time—”

“He’s stayed too long already!” Arthur barked, and then at the look on Gaius’s face, forced himself to drop his volume amid the impatience roaring through his brain. “The longer he stays the easier it’ll be for him to get caught, and as for his injuries, I can take care of him with his help. You’re not going to lose him, Gaius, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m frightened for the both of you,” Gaius said quietly. “I want you to be safe.”

Arthur felt a drop of pity mingling with his fear and anger. “We will be,” Arthur said, squeezing Gaius’s hand with his free one. “I can promise you that.”

“Then…I’ll wish you good luck,” Gaius said, and Arthur could tell just how much it had cost him to say that.

“Thank you,” Arthur said. “Goodbye, Gaius.”

He shut the door behind him, after he did, Gaius heaved a deep sigh and stood at the entrance of Merlin’s neglected room. His eyes strayed to the messy floor, the cupboard doors that hung gaping open, and the warped floorboard that used to hide a book of magic. He stayed there until the candle, drained to the nub, flickered and at last went out, sinking the room into darkness. Only then did he finally go to his bed, but he did not sleep, and wouldn’t for weeks to come.

 

Arthur, meanwhile, was in the stables. He couldn’t very well go riding a horse out of the city with Merlin draped over his saddle, but Merlin couldn’t ride himself due to the bump that was no doubt making itself known on the top of his head. One frantic thought led to another, all crescendoing to Arthur sitting on the stable floor and trying to shove Merlin, who was still comatose, into an extraordinarily large burlap sack.

“Come on,” Arthur grumbled, out of breath. The sack was up to his waist, and Arthur was currently propping his torso up to get it over his hips. Merlin was no help at all, he was more of a cooked noodle than a person in this state. After another few minutes of desperate struggling, Arthur was pulling it over his head. He sighed in relief as he tied it together until only a tuft of curly black hair was sticking out the top.

“Arthur?”

He froze, and slowly turned his head to the entrance to the stables.

“ _Gwen_?”

“Yeah,” Gwen said, stepping further into the stables. Her eyes roved over him, his hair wild and fingers no doubt covered in dirt, the apparently full burlap sack in front of him, and the fresh horse that stood there, stamping impatiently. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, you know…just—just getting ready to go hunting tomorrow,” he said airily, sitting back on his heels and trying to make it look as though he wasn’t being caught breaking the law red-handed.

“Arthur, I can see black hair sticking out of that sack,” Gwen said.

All the breath left him in a gust of despair, and he groaned and buried his head in his hands. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Oh, I knew you had him,” Gwen said breathlessly. “If you didn’t you’d be out there searching for him, I knew it!” She fell to her knees beside Arthur and pulled him into a fierce hug, which he protested weakly. When she pulled away from him, her eyes were shining. “Where are you taking him?”

“I’m going with him,” Arthur said dully, ignoring the expression of shock that flitted quickly across her face. It felt like he’d already had this conversation too many times. “We’re leaving Camelot.”

“Oh,” Gwen said, and sat down in the dirt abruptly. “Forever?”

“I don’t want to be here, Gwen,” Arthur whispered. “Do you remember what I told you I wanted to do? Before you were arrested?”

“You said…you wanted to run away. And take me and Merlin with you,” she recalled. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“Why don’t you come with me?” Arthur blurted out.

Gwen’s face closed like a shutter. “What?”

“Come with me,” Arthur said desperately. He laid a hand over hers. His mind was open to so many glittering possibilities, suddenly he was constructing a whole life with Gwen, Merlin was okay and all of them were happy and free…

Gwen withdrew her hand. “I can’t,” she said firmly.

“What—why not? Gwen, we could be so happy, we could be free, we’d have a life of our own.”

She sighed. “That was a dream, Arthur. This is a desperate bid for freedom to keep your best friend alive. You are the Crown Prince of Camelot. Running away with a known sorcerer…you won’t ever be free. Uther will hunt you until the end of his days.”

This grim perspective was one Arthur hadn’t thought of before. “I guess you’re right,” he said, trying to disguise the blow this realization had dealt him. “I didn’t think of that.”

Gwen gave him a sad smile. “It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. Just that your life will be harder than it might have been.”

“But Merlin will be alive,” Arthur murmured.

“Yes,” Gwen said. “Merlin will be alive, and you’ll be with him.”

She said nothing else, only sat there for a moment before getting up. He got up with her and when she reached forward, hugged her tightly to him. She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, stroked his face with her hand, and then left the stables. Arthur stood there and looked at her as she went, but she didn’t look back, and some small, guilty part of him was relieved she didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this lived up to expectations!

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback is incredibly appreciated :) thanks!!


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